


The Healer

by Teej



Category: Stranger Mukou Hadan | Sword of the Stranger
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-04-16 01:04:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14153298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teej/pseuds/Teej
Summary: What happened to Nanashi after the events at Shishinae?





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be such an experiment, let me tell you.  
> In this fic, the character of Hira (pronounced HEE-raw) is, in Japanese ヒーラー , meaning, as far as I know, healer.

##  ****

The Healer

  


****

( ヒーラー )

1.

When he realized what he saw, Kotaro slowed the horse. In amongst the dried and dead weeds growing alongside the track, was the ribcage of a long dead animal. A stiff breeze whistled through the grasses and smaller trees. Beyond them, further into the meadow, Kotaro could make out the aged and charred remains of several buildings. According to the local villagers, this region had seen many battles. Kotaro gazed on what was left. He sighed and looked towards the foothills.

With the sun sinking below the horizon, the boy looked with trepidation at the long, narrowing, path ahead of them. The villagers had sent them up into these mountains in a dubious search for a healer. He tried to ignore the sense of evil and foreboding that continually sent a shiver down his spine. 

Meanwhile, the horse plodded on.

Tobimaru, in all the happy abandon of a dog left to his own devices, trotted after them, pausing frequently to sniff and investigate. Occasionally he'd plunge into the undergrowth before emerging, tongue lolling, and racing to catch back up.

Behind him, Nanashi uttered a soft groan. His left arm still hung limp and nearly useless. His other arm, in its sling, gripped the back of the saddle to his stomach in an effort to stay on the horse. After the battle at Shishinae they'd ridden through the night and most of the day. 

Nanashi had insisted. 

He wanted as much distance between himself and that place as he could get. He only allowed what little time they could to let the horse rest. It had been hell getting him back onto the horse the second time. Though most of his bleeding had stopped, both knew he was badly injured. With the boy's help, they had field dressed the worst of his wounds then took off. Nanashi knew though, if he were to survive, he needed help which Kotaro could not give.

They had came across a small village and began inquiring for an apothecary, or a healer, anyone who could work with an injured man. At first, the villagers turned away, seeing they were utter strangers. Most especially upon seeing the dark red, Chinese robe around Nanashi's shoulders. They wanted nothing to do with the wars that seemed to be overtaking their country and their lives. Especially with the pernicious Ming 'visitors'. All remained mostly silent and suspicious. Their indifference lit a fire of indignation in the boy.

Kotaro tried to argue with them, desperate to get Nanashi some help. Finally he bartered, trading the robe itself for information. Nanashi managed a rueful, pain-filled, chuckle at the boy's tenacity. Especially when it yielded to what they sought. 

Amused at the boy's insistence and ire, some of the villagers began to grudgingly give them cryptic information. Sure they knew of a healer. A very costly one. Hiding far up in the hills leading into the mountains. A healer with a fearful reputation, reputed to be a horrible recluse, only treating those who made the effort to make the trek up to their home. That and having to get past the local bloodthirsty demon blocking the way...

Departing the village, several of the dwellers cackled in delight, gruesomely telling them of the many, many spirits that claimed the mountain. It was their region to haunt, they gleefully needled. Giving the pair spine tingling tales of supernatural activities. Best have something to barter with if you wanted to see the healer, they had warned. Nanashi told the boy to just ignore them, but Kotaro boastfully argued back that he had exactly what he needed to pay someone. In all the chaos that had occurred at Shishinae, he had retrieved the two halves of broken jade that had saved Nanashi's life.

Making their way further and further into the foot hills, Kotaro knew that --despite their efforts to tend to Nanashi's wounds-- the man was getting sick. Sweat had broken out on his temples, seeping into his hair on either side of his head. It being a sure sign that fever had set in. The boy had voiced his fears that maybe the yellow haired barbarian's sword had been poisoned. Nanashi gently refuted him, pointing out that a warrior didn't do that to their blade. Besides, the worst of the wounds had been inflicted on him with his own sword.

Nanashi's resistance, however, continued to dwindle. He'd literally ran the entire distance from the Manguko temple of Shirato to the fortress. Several hours of hard travelling, trying to catch up with the Ming who had taken Kotaro. All of this in a blizzard. What greeted him at Shishinae was all out war.

Lord Akaike's forces, usurped after his death by Shogun Itadori, had already laid fiery siege to the fort. Because of their efforts, the moment Nanashi had entered the grounds, he'd had a pair of towers literally collapse on top of him. What followed was a hell-bent climb up to the top of the Chinese altar trying to reach Kotaro. Not without due opposition as he went, either. All of this occurred before that last battle with the foreign barbarian known as Luo-Lang. The hardship that Nanashi had put himself through was catching up, faster than he liked.

He shifted uncomfortably. The stiffness, aches, pains and long hours of riding were not getting any better despite his reassurances to the boy. With the onset of fever, Nanashi was hard pressed to keep himself awake and aware of his surroundings. The last thing they needed was for him to become delirious and fall off the horse. 

For his part, Kotaro tried hard not to dwell on what the villagers had told them. Let the woods be full of vengeful spirits, filled with terror, seeking to waylay travellers up into those mountains. They'd spoken of an evil demon, huge and hissing threats, that sought to drive people over mountain ledges with its fearful wings. Kotaro angrily ignored them. Determined to find this person. He wanted only to get Nanashi to the healer. The man had grown quieter the further they rode and Kotaro knew it was a fight for him to stay upright on the horse. The boy grit his teeth, why did a healer live so far away from people?

His resolve began to sink as they continued riding further into the hills. A warm spell had melted the previous day's snowfall. It left only patches of lingering snow in cold pockets on the ground. Most of the trees had long dropped their leaves and stood in stark contrast to the rapidly darkening sky. They would get snow again, the boy thought as they entered the trees. Tobimaru trotted along behind them, occasionally pausing to sniff things out. A depressive veil began to settle over the area adding to Kotaro's anxiety. 

Where was this healer?

It didn't take long before Kotaro's bravery frayed around the edges. With the setting sun, the trees grew darker, thicker. Nocturnal creatures began to brave the night, causing both horse and boy to get a bit jittery. Only the dog could care less. Looking about nervously, Kotaro wondered what strange, wicked, things really did lurk in the dense shrubbery. Weird and eerie shapes seemed to appear out of no where and vanish. How true were all those tall tales from the villagers? A sudden rustling in the woods to his right caused him to gasp in fright. The horse responded also, tossing his head.

Tobimaru, with a huff of delight, burst out of the greenery before them. Kotaro jumped in fright with a yelp. Then he relaxed, with a self-conscience laugh. “Tobimaru! You frightened me.”

He looked around, urging the horse to continue up the winding path. Trees, mostly dark, evergreen, conifers, surrounded them now. Evening twilight had mostly vanished, leaving only an intense carmine-red line of light on the horizon. A dark oppressive gloom seeped into the boy's bones. Fearful, he tried to look back at Nanashi. He still clung to the saddle like his life depended on it. Kotaro felt heat coming from Nanashi's face where his head rested against the boy's back and shoulder. He'd stopped talking some time back, only an occasional groan escaping him.

To his right, Kotaro spotted strangely shaped items looming in a darkened vale. He realized he was riding past a cemetery.

Gasping in fright, Kotaro stopped the horse as he stared at moss covered stone slabs, some barely revealing intricate inscriptions in the rapidly darkening night. Many were upright, others leaning, some fallen over. At the entry into the place stood tall, flat wooden sticks covered with inscriptions. Superstition crept over the boy as he stared. Tobimaru, who had fallen back to trotting behind them, now surpassed them and paused a little ahead of the horse. He sniffed the air, sensing something as Kotaro felt Nanashi leaning harder into him.

“Nanashi?” he asked, and he scowled at the fear in his voice. The man didn't reply. 

“Hey!” Kotaro snapped, “Wake up. Answer me!” Eyes open wide with fear he reacted by getting angry. Even more so, by getting angry at the man behind him. “Don't you dare be falling asleep on me! You'd better not be trying to trick me into doing something!” Kotaro felt the horse shift suddenly, his head lowering, ears straight forward. At the same moment, Tobimaru began to growl, the hair rising at the back of his neck. 

“Tobimaru!” the boy exclaimed. “What is it?!”

Ahead of them, somewhere in the darkness, a strange, sibilant, hissing filled the air. Something large loomed to the left of the pathway before them. The horse began nervously shifting, snorting uneasily, the whites of its eyes visible in the waning light.

Tobimaru barked at whatever had stalked its way onto the path. Roughly the same size as the dog, it had a small head, on a long, snake-like, neck that drooped low to the ground. It hissed with vicious intent as it hunched its shoulders forward, advancing in a menacing, waddling, gait. Two enormous wings began to lift above the creature's body, making it look even bigger. The hissing noise increased as it moved faster, spreading its wingspan out nearly six feet.

The dog prepared to lunge, for all intents and purposes aiming to rip the beast's throat out. That was until the creature went airbourne. It's wings making a back-draft strong enough to ruffle their hair. The horse threw its head up, trying to back down the way they had come.

The boy let out a yelp of terror as the apparition rapidly approached them, the thrumming down beat of its wings driving Tobimaru back. At one point, a wing must have connected with the dog. Tobimaru let out a startled yipe and was rolled off his feet. However, he was back up in a flash, barking and growling, preparing to attack the creature as it landed and stalked towards him. The hissing seemed even angrier as it bore down on the dog.

Frozen with terror, Kotaro felt Nanashi shift, driving the heel of his foot into the horse's flank, urging the big animal forward.

The horse nearly unseated them both as he tossed his head again in fear. The creature before them rose up to beat the air with its wings. Again, Tobimaru prepared to attack but the horse reluctantly plunged ahead, scattering the animal combatants apart. A loud protesting squawk of indignation erupted from the strange creature.

“Whoa!” Kotaro protested, grabbing frantically for the reins, trying to stay on as the horse bolted up the trail. Abruptly, the trees began to thin out, the way opening up. Kotaro fought to bring the horse to a stop. His attention captured by the din of noise behind him.

A terrific, and very loud, cacophony had erupted. Tobimaru's barking being nearly drowned out by the angry hissing and frenzied honking of a very large bird. Kotaro began to realize they had encountered a sizeable and angry goose. Trying to look behind him, Nanashi partially blocked his view. Tobimaru and the goose were exchanging hisses, snaps and several efforts to outmanoeuvre one another. He paid no attention to the horse who was trying to crab sideways up the path, still tossing its head. The boy felt Nanashi shift again, trying to lift his nearly useless left arm to grab the rein.

The effort however, proved to be too much. The animals continued raising an almighty racket, enough to wake the dead. Kotaro felt Nanashi reach past his leg, grabbing the rein and trying to pull the horse's head around, stopping him in the path, facing downhill. At the same time, the man began shifting again, only this time he was beginning to fall off the horse.

“What are you doing!?” Kotaro demanded, as Nanashi's hand lost its grip. He tried to hug the cantle tighter to his chest, his breathing getting harsher and faster. 

“The gate...” Nanashi managed to pant. “What's on... the gate?”

Kotaro looked around surprised, before he caught sight of a low wooden gate on the up-slope side of the pathway. Where had that come from? How had Nanashi even seen it? In the gloom and darkness, Kotaro --at first-- saw nothing until he finally saw something carved on the side post, barely visible in the rapidly waning light. Stone steps curved away from the gate.

A stick like figure of a man in a three sided box. Kotaro felt Nanashi tremble as he clung to the saddle. He leaned precariously to the left.

“Is it... a healer...?” Nanashi gasped. “The sign... is it... a healer?”

“Yes! Have we found him?” Kotaro exclaimed.

“You...” Nanashi panted, “You need... to go... get them...” 

Kotaro barely heard him above the grating sounds of the dog and the goose that was ferociously defending the pathway. “Me?!” Kotaro looked in alarm at the escalating animal combatants.

“I...” Nanashi gasped, “I can't... stay up.”

“You can't fall off!” The boy exclaimed, trying to twist around to face the man. “Don't you dare fall off!” 

Nanashi's face was ghastly pale, his unkempt hair falling over into his eyes which were squeezed shut. Before he realized it the boy was off the horse, desperately trying to keep him up on the horse's back.

“Hang on to the saddle!” Kotaro began to plead. “Just hang on!”

The dog and goose continued their painfully discordant arguing.

Nanashi clung desperately to his precarious perch as Kotaro begged him not to fall off. The boy was pulling the horse's head around, trying to hold him up and hang on to the reins at the same time. 

Nanashi felt parts of himself going numb. The oncoming crisis, with a wave of nausea and dizziness, swept over him. He couldn't stay upright any longer. Kotaro let out a frightened, angry yell, trying to snap him out of it as he slid over sideways.

“Gacho!” A voice suddenly called out, “Gacho, enough!” Instantly the rather irate goose defending its turf, rose up tall and straight, lowering its wings. It began a persistent angry honking. Tobimaru backed off, barking at the newcomer, and still growling at the bird.

For Nanashi it felt like a surreal, waking, nightmare as he felt himself falling. Then he heard a distinctly female voice exclaim in alarm. He suddenly felt a small, strong hand on his weakened arm managing to keep him upright a little longer. A cool hand slipped across his forehead, followed by another gasp of surprise.

“Boy,” she called out sharply, “Keep the horse still while I get him down!” She focused her attention on Nanashi. “Hold on just a moment more!” The woman's voice urged him as she braced herself.

Between the two of them, he managed to ungracefully slide off the horse's back as she drug his left arm over her shoulder. She staggered under his weight when he nearly fell onto his knees. He was cramped and bent, from riding for so long. He let out a sharp exclamation of pain as gravity took back over.

Kotaro, as was his way when he was scared, immediately began to argue. “What are you doing? Can't you see he's hurt! Are you trying to kill him? What do you want?!”

“Hush boy! Keep that animal still!” The woman grunted with effort, getting her feet set to help keep Nanashi up.

“You're just trying to rob us!” The boy exploded, letting go of the horse's head. “My dog can attack you!” He called Tobimaru to him who was still trying to get the last word in with the goose. 

The bird staunchly blocked the path leading back towards the cemetery. It held its head up high and defiant displaying a large knob on its forehead. The horse was having none of it, and immediately pulled away. The woman let out a sharp exclamation as Nanashi started to fall from the loss of support from the horse.

“Get that horses' head, boy!” She snapped angrily at Kotaro, “He's going to fall if you don't!”

She almost collapsed trying to support him. With his arm across her shoulder, she stumbled, reaching around his waist to grab at his clothes. His knees buckled and an agonized groan of pain escaped. She looked at him, alarmed. She hadn't touched his obviously wounded side. Bracing herself she pushed him upright, trying to lean him against the horse. His eyes were clenched shut. He winced through panted breaths as he tried to wrap his right arm around his ribs. Together they struggled to keep him on his feet. Flattening her hand against the back of his rib cage, she pressed inwards.

Another pain-filled, gut-wrenching, groan escaped him while the woman exclaimed in dismay.

“Stop it!” the boy shouted, “You're hurting him!” Tobimaru's frenzied barking increased as he prepared to launch himself back down the path towards the cantankerous goose.

“I'm trying to help him, you wretched boy!” She snapped. “He's got broken ribs!”

“He's got what?!” The boy exclaimed.

“Not to mention the other wounds...” She growled, struggling to keep Nanashi up. She clenched a fist full of his robes, feeling him get his feet under him. His fingers dug hard into her shoulder. His head hung. She felt him trying to summon his strength.

“You're trying to kill him to steal our money and our horse!” The boy raged. “I should let Tobimaru rip your throat out! We're trying to get to the healer!”

Ignoring the boy's verbal barrage, the woman focused her attention on the man. “Ronin...” she urged, not knowing what else to call him. “I need you to walk, I can't carry you!”

He managed to nod, “Be...” he gasped through his pain and gritted teeth, “Be easy... on the boy... please...”

“If he'd help, I wouldn't be so hard on him! We've got an uphill walk to the house, then steps. Stay awake!”

He could only nod as she slowly turned him.

“Wait a minute!” Kotaro snapped. “You can't just take him away! I'm his boss! Who are you anyway? Where are you going?” Desperately the boy snatched what few wrapped up belongings they had off the horse's back and followed. 

The strange woman urged and coaxed Nanashi to keep walking, making their way past the short gate and onto the stone pathway.

“His boss, huh?” She panted from her own exertions, planting a hand on Nanashi's heaving chest.

“That's right and I want to know who you are and what you're planning on doing!”

“Enough chatter, boy! Shut that gate or I'll let Gacho deal with you.”

Kotaro gasped and looked back at the agitatedly honking goose still holding court on the trail. Tobimaru looked from goose to boy. He sneezed, contemptuously, and turned to gallop after them.

That walk seemed to last an eternity for Nanashi. He was more injured and sicker than he thought. Then again, he had been in a desperate and intense sword fight, fallen through several different sets of scaffolding and managed to get himself on a horse. Didn't a tower fall on him too? Then they had ridden far, getting little rest. The woman continued encouraging him to keep moving. 

To his amazement, Kotaro could make out a warm, orangey, light past the stand of trees they were making their way through. His jaw dropped when they emerged out into the open. 

Before him was a small, very sturdy house, built in classic fashion with its main floor lifted well off the ground. An engawa, a short, raised wooden porch, surrounded the home. Solid wood panels, amado storm shutters, had been slid into place to protect the house. The back of the building appeared to be flat up against the face of the mountain. A steeply peaked thatch roof, with its eaves, poked out well past the wrap around en. What he couldn't see was a shorter building on the third side of the house away from them; a small barn for the owners livestock.

“W... what is this place?!” Kotaro demanded. “And where is the healer?! Why doesn't he come out?!”

“He?!” The woman shot back over her shoulder, “Who said the healer was a man?”


	2. Chapter 2

##  ****

The Healer

  


****

2.

That brought Kotaro to a dead stop. “He isn't? Then who are you?”

“Enough boy!” The woman gasped in exasperation. “Do you want your servant, you say you are the boss of, to get help or not?”

She focused all her attention on Nanashi, who was actually trying to let out of huff of amusement. “Step up...” Her voice urged, shifting her weight to accommodate him. “Stone step then the en.” His foot caught on the square stone, but she managed to help him stay upright.

Together they staggered into the genkan opening of the house. Another stone was laid before the home's main raised floor. The woman stopped their momentum. “Boy, get his setti's off!” She ordered.

“Don't call me boy! My name's Kotaro!” He shouted from behind them.

She felt the man's knees giving out and she braced to keep him upright. “No!” she urged him, her hands clutching his side and chest. “Just stay up a moment longer and I'll get you by the fire.”

Kotaro, grumbling, bent to snatch at the bindings on Nanashi's feet. He even set Nanashi's tabi covered foot on the stone before he quickly snatched at the laces of his other sandal. At least the boy had some proper training when entering a home. The woman kicked off her geta sandals, stepping onto the wide stone block and urging the man to get his other foot onto it as well.

“It's a higher step up onto the en, then a few more towards the fire,” she urged.

He couldn't respond, he just wanted to embrace the darkness threatening to engulf him. With a last burst of effort, he managed to mount the step onto the engawa. The woman continued encouraging him to keep moving forward, guiding him into a large washitsu room and towards a sunken fire pit in the very centre.

Kotaro, now standing on the stone block, stood up and stared in surprise as Tobimaru bounded past him and into the house. He clutched their small pack of items to his chest.

It was not a typical peasant's hut. He gaped, taking in the the size of the room, a part of which was screened by opaque, paper-covered shoji sliding panels and another by solid fusuma panels. The one used to block, the other to screen but allow in light. One fusuma was decorated with an enormous painting of a weeping red maple, while two other walls were painted with intricately detailed pines. The second fusuma, at the back of the house, had been painted with a stunning, golden ginkgo tree. On either side of the genkan entry way, the walls were plain, highly polished, wood.

His awe at the sight of the interior was interrupted by the woman. 

“Just a little further,” she encouraged Nanashi as they staggered past the sunken irori fire pit in the centre of the room. He felt himself losing his balance. She broke his fall, easing him to his knees. Groaning in pain, he let her guide him down onto the tatami mat covered floor and onto his back. It was a struggle, not to mention painful, to catch his breath as his chest heaved. It had taken an enormous amount of exertion to make it to where he now lay. Despite the warmth radiating from the floor, he shivered.

He was not used to this. Being so helpless. Nothing about him, despite his efforts, would respond. At this point, having made it into the house, he couldn't even open his eyes. His arms and legs refused to obey him. Even if they could, fiery pain -from several points- left him gasping for breath. A warm, light, weight suddenly covered him. Confusion threatened to overwhelm him. He had the strange sense of being both too hot, then too cold. Dimly aware of shivering, he felt something trickling along side his face. He jerked his head, panting from all of the exertion.

He wanted to fight back. A useless exercise in frustration. Yet he continued to resist, shivering and tossing his head. His hand twitched, reaching for something that was no longer there. That old familiar weight, now gone. Pain and fire seemed to sear his very nerves. He felt his teeth chattering. A sound reached his ears, something between a sob and a whine. 

He realized it was himself. 

Vaguely, vaguely, Nanashi became aware of arguing. A boy. No, the boy, Kotaro, was vociferously haranguing somebody. During all this time, the boy hadn't moved, clutching his bundle before him as he continued with a non-stop list of accusations and arguments.

The woman slid a shoji screen aside revealing floor to ceiling shelving. Pulling several things from various slots and cubbyholes she began amassing them by the fire pit. 

In the irori's centre a small fire was keeping a large cast iron pot full of water at a steady simmer. It hung from a yoked chain securely bolted into the enormous log that made up the centre beam of the ceiling. In the sand filling the pit, several metal grates sat. 

She quickly pulled a small hand-held rake out and tugged several large coals of burning wood under the grates then filled small pots with the simmering water and set them around the fire. To her left, a large, plain ceramic pot sat with a smaller cup by its side. She stood, pulled the lid off and began using a bamboo ladle inside it to fill the hanging centre pot full of water.

“We're supposed to be looking for a healer!” The boy charged on as the woman moved from place to place around the room, gathering things here and there. 

“Boy, who do you think I am?!” She demanded turning back towards the fire pit. 

“Make yourself useful!” she snapped. “If I'm to help this man, I need more wood for this fire. It's in the building next to the house!”

“You can't order me around!” Kotaro snapped. “Who are you anyway?!”

Exasperated, the woman stood up moving quickly towards the genkan, causing Kotaro, still clutching his items, to back away from her in alarm. “I'm the healer!” she snapped, slipping her geta's back on and stomping off down the engawa.

Moments later she reappeared with two large bundles of tied, chopped wood which she dumped unceremoniously in the genkan before kicking off her sandal and rushing back to the fire pit. 

Kotaro could only stare at her in shock.

Dropping to her knees, she began laying out several bundles of dried roots and herbs, tubes of bamboo with different concoctions in them, a mortar with its pestle, and hand-fitted curved blade. Snatching up a flat piece of wood, she used the curved blade to cut into the roots and herbs, dropping them into the mortar as she worked quickly. She loaded the mortar up and began grinding them down.

“Your servant...” she snapped at the boy with a healthy dose of scepticism, “If that's what he really is, could very well die. How long have you two been riding in his condition? He's a mess!”

“He's my body guard!” Kotaro shot back defiantly. “I hired him!”

“Oh, you did, did you? You hired a wandering ronin? That's a likely story!” The woman dumped the contents of the mortar into one of the smaller pots of water then turned to prepare another batch of herbs. “What's his name anyway?”

“His name is Nanashi.”

“Nanashi?” she exclaimed. “Anonymous? What kind of name is that?”

“His name!” the boy shot back “And I don't lie! I did hire him!” Kotaro insisted. “You just want to rob us of all our money.”

“If I had wanted to do that, boy, I wouldn't have brought him into my house!” She said dumping the new batch of herbs into another of the small pots. She snagged up one bamboo tube after another, mixing liquids, oils, even some balms into the two different bowls. Giving them a quick stir, she got off her knees and turned towards Nanashi.

Trapped in semi-delirium, Nanashi just wanted to laugh. The kid was a tough little number. He barely sensed the woman kneeling beside him. A pair of small strong hands gripped his left shoulder and hip. Blinding pain ripped a groan of agony out of him as the hands pulled him over onto his right side. That small effort left him collapsed and deflated as the pain coursed through him. 

“Nanashi!” The boy's fear was palpable, then he lit back in to the woman. “You're trying to kill him! Stop hurting him!”

Once on his side, he felt almost palpable relief, though trying to breathe felt like inhaling fire. He felt someone, no wait, the woman lift his arm. He winced out loud. Everything hurt. Something large and soft was set against his chest, his arm draped carefully over it. He felt her slip his other arm out of its sling and guide it into place. 

“Grip the pillow...” her voice coaxed. “It will help you to breathe.”

He barely managed a nod, utterly unable to open his eyes. 

“You know lower dantian, yes?” She asked. 

He nodded again.

“If you're to heal, you must breathe from there.” She paused, setting her hand briefly on his forehead again. “Rest while you can... there is much to be done.”

She rose again, turning towards the fire and glancing at Kotaro. Saying nothing, she took up another small pot, filled it with water then added it with the others on the heating grate. Satisfied that the concoctions she had made were warming, she went across the room to the large ginkgo fusuma and stepped around behind it. She vanished from view and the boy could just hear her moving about from somewhere behind the house walls. Moments later she emerged with a small, bulging, cloth sack. 

“Well don't just stand there, gaping like a fish. Go set your things down and get ready to help your servant.” The woman said, setting the sack down and turning to face Kotaro. She pointed at the maple covered fusuma. “Behind there is a toire. You need clean hands for what we have to do.”

“Clean hands?!” the boy exclaimed, “I don't know anything about healing!?” Kotaro protested, starting to back away as she approached. “Why do you think we came looking for a healer!?”

As he moved, one of the items, oblong and awkward to carry, slipped out of his bundle and landed with a loud clunk on the floor between them. It rolled away from him, revealing a broken, long, slim, blade.

Before Kotaro could snatch it back up, the woman moved even faster and beat him to it. The cloth it was wrapped in fell off revealing the long handle of a katana.

“Well, now what is this?” the woman asked, and lifted Nanashi's katana up, exposing the handle further. “Maybe it is I who should be worried about you robbing me?”

“What!?” the boy exploded. “No! Wait...”

The woman gripped the katana near the hand guard and ran her thumb along it.

Kotaro went back on the attack. “What are you doing! That's mine! You can't just go grabbing things that aren't yours. Give that back!” 

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Yours is it? Seems to me it belongs to him.” She jerked her chin at Nanashi. “He's the samurai.”

“I'm keeping it for him!” Kotaro replied defiantly. “How'd you know he's a samurai? Give that back!” He demanded. The dog, bored now, simply yawned and ignored the exchange going on. He laid his head down, raising an eyebrow and looked at the prostrate man on the floor.

“I wasn't born yesterday, boy. He's samurai through and through. Those scars on his face are from sword slices. I imagine there's a lot more. Not to mention his current wounds? Those are the marks of a samurai.”

“How do you know?!”

The woman huffed in disbelief shaking her head at the boy. “I'm a healer, boy. I treat those kind of wounds!”

“Don't call me boy! My name is Kotaro!”

“Until you start showing some respect in my home, boy, I will continue to call you one.” She shot back and turned away from him with the katana. She moved closer to the irori, glancing at the several pots and their various liquids, checking on the state of things. Then she stood and studied the broken blade before shaking her head, letting out a sigh.

“Don't do that!” Kotaro snapped as she turned the handle towards the light of the sunken fire.

Ignoring the boy she examined the broken, nicked blade. The tsuba, the hand guard, was also broken. She gripped the handle with both of her hands, brandishing the sword, and felt a subtle shift under her palms. A soft hiss of dismay escaped her lips and she glanced at Nanashi. “What did you run up against?” She asked softly.

“Give that back!” Kotaro demanded suddenly planting himself in front of her. 

“It's useless now, child, the spirit of this katana is dead,” she said. “The tsuba and tsuka are damaged, and the menuki are missing.”

“The what?!” he snapped in confusion. 

She shook her head. “For someone who claims to be this man's employer you sure don't know much about his gear.” She heaved a sigh and flipped the katana around, holding the handle out to the boy. 

“The tsuka is the completed handle, part of which is the ho, which holds the tang of the blade. It is made with wood, its shifting under my hands, meaning its split. The tsuba is the hand guard. It's broken. Something metallic, probably from the sword of his opponent, struck it. As for the menuki? Who knows...”

“What are those?” the boy, still defiant, tried to snatch the katana from her hands. She let him grab it and turned towards the irori. 

“They're small, flat metal decorations, usually signifying the lord the samurai serves under. Or some other symbol of special meaning. They sit under the tsuka-ito, the silk wrap on the handle. They fit under the palms of their hands when they grasp the katana. It helps their grip. His are gone.” She stirred one of the pots on its metal grate, while the larger pot, full of water began to boil.

Kotaro, holding the broken blade up, tried squeezing the handle to feel the shift and utterly failed. “You're lying.” He growled.

“Think what you like.” She shot back, rising and walked towards one of the walls. “Make yourself useful, child. That horse is still standing out there on the track. There's a barn on the left side of the building and room enough in the stall. We're expecting snow tonight. I'd suggest you get him inside.”

“Don't call me a child!”

“So long as you keep acting like one, I will continue to call you one.” She said and reached over, sliding the maple tree fusuma back and revealing a small storage room. She disappeared inside.

Petulantly, Kotaro growled and stomped, still holding the broken katana up. He scowled at the sliding wall the woman had disappeared behind. Then finally he moved over to where he had dropped his pack and set the katana down. “C'mon Tobimaru!” he ordered and headed for the sunken entry way, dropping down to sit on the floors edge to put his setti's back on.

The dog just lifted his head, tilted it sideways and let out a whine, before dropping his head back on his paws and looking at the boy. 

Kotaro looked at him as he finished tying on the straps. “C'mon!” he ordered. The dog didn't budge. Kotaro huffed in frustration, standing up. “Fine!” He snapped, stomping his way across the en and out into the night. “That goose had better watch it!” he angrily declared.

Moments after he left, she emerged from the room, setting a tri-folded, thickly quilted, pad next to the wall, and draping a quilted blanket on it. She shook her head, seeing the boy had gone outside and she heaved a sigh. She went back in to emerge with another pad and quilt which she set near Nanashi. Another dash into the room and she emerged with a stack of towels and bandages and a small pouch. Turning, she used her foot to slide the fusuma back into place and set the stack of items on the floor between the man and the irori. One of the towels promptly went into the large pot of water.

Returning to face him, she critically examined Nanashi's face. There was some bruising and the rather prominent vertical scar on the right side of his face stood out in sharp contrast. Another scar had nicked his cheek on the other side of his face at some point in time in his life. She sighed, he was most definitely a samurai, more then likely a ronin. How had he got tangled up with the boy? Sweat dampened his temples, and he was shivering, despite the light coverlet she had put over him. He struggled with his breathing, still clutching the pillow to his chest.

“Nanashi?” she tentatively asked. What kind of a name was that? She settled on her knees beside him, reaching up and placing the backs of her fingers on his forehead. A soft moan escaped him. “Nanashi? I need to move you onto your other side... I need to check your ribs.”

Just barely he managed to nod his head, attempting to speak and failing. Moving was a trial, but she worked fast and knowingly, resettling him with his face towards the fire. She twisted around to the water pot and reached for the small clay cup at its side. With great care she lifted his head and helped him to drink the water. Even that effort left him gasping for breath.

“Thank...” he panted, “thank... you.”

She shushed him, settling his head back down, turning towards the various pots again. “Save your strength. Keep trying to breathe from lower dantian. I've a bit of preparation before the work I need to do on you.”

“You're... the healer?” He managed to ask.

“Yes...” she said, extracting a few odds and ends from the pouch. Needles, sutures, and the blade of small knife went into a flat pan of water now heating over the fire grate. 

“Kotaro?” he managed to gasp.

“Taking care of your horse.”

Still unable to even open his eyes, his pain didn't stop Nanashi from smirking slightly. He let out a pain filled huff of air. It was followed by a wince as he gasped. “He's... a terror...”

“I'm worse,” she responded, turning and reaching over him to pull the tie loose from his hair.

“Been... through... hell.” He panted, letting her settle his head back down.

“Looks like you got the worst of it,” She responded, eliciting another pain-filled huff of amusement out of him. 

“Should... see.. the... other... guy...” he managed to mumble, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Is your name really Nanashi?” she asked. 

He nodded. “They didn't... know... what else... to call me...”

She frowned at that response, reaching up to pull his hair away from the clotted dried blood on his right ear.

“You?” he managed to whisper.

“They,” she said with a slight mirth, “call me Hira.”

“Healer?” He whispered then he winced at the attempt to laugh, before a fit of coughing hit him, leaving him weak and sagging into the floor. He moaned with pain.

“Enough talk, Nanashi.” She said softly, examining the knick, seeing it could wait to be cleaned up. She settled a hand on his shoulder. “Let's get these robes off of you.” She reached down and tugged the knot loose on the belt around his waist. He nodded and let her pull the pillow from his grip.

In the light of the fire, she could see the blood that had soaked through his robes and down onto the fabric gauntlet of his right arm. He struggled to breath from deep within, as she lifted his arm and tugged his frayed haori jacket down to his elbow, slipping his arm free. As suspected the haori, hanten, and nagajuban – the white under-robe-- were caked with dried and semi-coagulated blood. Hira heaved a sigh, and began easing his arm out of the robes.

She let out a soft exclamation of dismay, as he groaned from the efforts to move. A deep slice across the upper part of his shoulder newly seeped small amounts of blood past what had already clotted and dried. Pulling the bloody gauntlet off his arm revealed a savage, through and through puncture slice from where a sword had pierced clean through his right forearm. 

“How long have you been like this?” she murmured. “I don't know if I can stitch this,” she added. She critically examined his shoulder wound. “Or this...” She murmured before sitting back and gently tugging his robes from his pants, flicking them behind his back.

“Getting... out... more... important.” He managed to gasp as he shivered from the sudden exposure to the cool air.

“I see,” she replied. Besides massive amounts of purpling bruises, she could see several much older scars criss crossing his side and down his back. She pulled the pillow back over and eased it against his chest. “Hold this,” she said softly, reaching up to dash his hair off his face. “I need to see how many ribs are broke,” she warned, guiding his arms back into place. “I'll have to press my hand firmly. Just keep breathing from dantian and clutch the zabuton.”

He nodded. As she began to examine and probe, he couldn't stop the moans and gasps of pain. He was panting again by the time she stopped. 

“Breathe, Nanashi...” she coaxed. “Deeper breaths. I don't want you getting any sicker than you already are. There's at least four broken.”

All he could do was nod in reply. Hira turned towards the fire pit, pulling over a bamboo tube that sat on its end. Taking it's stopper out, her nostrils flared at the alcoholic smell emitting from it. She tipped some into the pan holding the needles, the knife, and spool of thread, stoppered it and set it down within hands reach. She stood up, letting him continue regaining control of his breathing, and snagged up one of the larger towels. 

Within seconds she had two towels spread out behind him then she proceeded to tuck his robes as far under his side as possible. With her hand on his shoulder, she gently eased him to roll over onto his back, reaching over to help guide his hip. Once onto his back she let him rest a moment, while she slipped his other arm out from his robes. Then she helped him over onto his right. She stopped short of pulling the coagulated, clotted, half dried fabric from his wounded side, not wanting to tear the scabbing away just yet. 

He tenaciously clutched the pillow to his chest, sinking back into the floor as she tugged the bundle of fabric out from under him. Hira then she arose from her spot. From somewhere off to his right, muted and low, he could swear he heard ducks. He struggled, his lips lifting in a snarl, to draw in a proper breath and he slowly cracked his eyes open.

Settling on her knees at his side was a small woman, close to his own age. Her hair, glossy and black as ebony, was pulled back loosely at the nape of her neck. She wore the simple common, everyday robes, of typical villagers. Haori, hanten and nagajuban. Hers were mostly in grey, save for the nagajuban under them all. Her eyes were dark brown and she paused seeing him trying to focus on her.

Nearly everyone he met automatically got that quizzical look on their face when they realized his own eyes were amber-coloured. Much lighter brown with a heavy dose of copper. It was the one thing he couldn't hide from people like he could his hair. The moment passed though, no judgement from her, as she took the hot towel and prepared to lay it over the mess that was his side wound.

“Are those...” he managed to gasp. “Ducks?”

She flashed a quick smile at him, setting a warm, moist towel on his side wound. He let out a gasp of pain as she pressed down, but then he felt the heat seeping into his body. The relief was indescribable he exhaled in relief, his tense shoulders dropping.

“Chickens too. The boy, Kotaro? He's in the barn.” She held the towel firmly down, trying to get the warm moisture to seep into the sticky, tacky mess. “He must be a handful.” She commented.

Nanashi huffed, regretting it and tightened his arms around the pillow to stop the coughing. “You can't... begin to.... imagine...” he managed to grate through his teeth. “He's had... a rougher time... than me.”

“Temple raised?” she asked. He nodded his head.

“He needs to learn manners around women.”

“He just... needs to... learn manners...” he replied. “Just...” he sucked in air, trying to breath as deep as he could. “Just… take it easy... with him. He's been hunted... by the Ming.”

“Hunted?!” She exclaimed. 

“For some... bizarre sacrifice.” Nanashi managed to say. “This...” he indicated his present condition. “Is the result... of getting him... out of their clutches.”

Hira paused, listening to his words. “I have noticed quite a few Ming in the region the past year or so. They were after that boy?”

“Were...” Nanashi said with a note of finality as he sank back into the floor again, letting his eyes shut. “They're all dead.” Something seemed to drain away from him. An overwhelming sense of weariness seeped into his bones.

“So did he really hire you?”

“I let him... think that.” Nanashi whispered. “He's eight... His temple... was destroyed. His master... betrayed him. He's got... no one.”

“He's got you,” She said.

He huffed amusement, winced again, and tried to smile. “We're stuck... with each other.”

“Ronin?” she asked tentatively.

He nodded. “Yes. I won't... serve under... another lord.” There was such a note of weariness in his response, a sense of pain and finality. His eyes flickered open as she set her hand on his forehead. There was a faint smile on her lips.

“I understand,” she said simply. “Save your talk now. I've got to get this field dressing off. Let me move you. You're going to need your strength.”


	3. Chapter 3

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The Healer

  


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3.

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It was the subtlest of warnings, he knew, as he tried to draw in a deep breath then release it slowly. She needed to clean the worst of his wounds, then stitch him up. If that could even be done seeing how long they had ridden since his battle with Luo-Lang. Hira pretty much needed to perform minor surgery. His biggest risk wasn't so much the injuries themselves, it was the threads from his robes that undoubtedly would be in the wound. Infection was an indiscriminate killer.

The pain of his breathing didn't help. Then again, fractured ribs from where he had fallen through scaffolding wasn't helping either. He knew he was in for a battle royal if he was to survive. She shifted around him, dropping onto her knees, setting a hand on his hip and shoulder. Their eyes met, and he nodded.

He honestly tried not to let the howl of pain out, but he failed as she began taking off the dried, partially clotted clothes and bandages. She didn't move right away, just turning towards him, pushing his errant hair off from his face and helping him to clutch the pillow. He was appalled at his own whimpering, but gods how it hurt! Her gentle shushing, followed by Tobimaru's whine, caused him to crack open one eye as he trembled. 

The dog, head up, was looking at him, then he jerked his head around, gazing towards the doorway into the home. Foot steps pounded along the en before the boy appeared. He looked scared and alarmed, and was about to enter the house when Hira rose from her place before Nanashi and stepped by the fire.

“Nanashi!” He exclaimed then looked at her with resentment. “What did you do to him?!”

“Setti's!” She snapped, pointing at his feet. “Do not bring those dirty feet into this home! I have a sick, wounded, man here, and you're not going to get him any sicker with your dirty setti's!”

He seriously growled at her, then he flopped onto the floor of the house and tugged the strings loose on his sandals with angry jerks. Hira shook her head in despair and disappeared around behind the ginkgo fusuma again. She emerged moments later holding a highly polished, plate of metal.

A few more moments of bustling around, gathering a few more items, then Hira paused and checked that everything was together. Finally she set three tall candle sticks up, lighting the wicks and pacing them in strategic locations around Nanashi.

Satisfied, she turned to the water pot, snatching up a wooden bowl which she filled. Setting it near Nanashi head, she set a cloth rag beside it and a small thick piece of wood. Then she turned to Kotaro.

“Come over here...” she said indicating a spot by Nanashi's head. At first he just looked at her stubbornly, then he warily circled around, stopped just out of arm's reach. The dog, momentarily thumped his tail in delight, looking up at the boy.

“I'm about to start,” she said to him. “I need you to hold this in a certain spot and keep it there.” She picked up the metal plate.

“What for?!” Kotaro demanded.

“You're going to reflect light from the irori and the candles onto his wounds so I can see to clean them.” She looked levelly at him, “It's not going to pretty. If your squeamish, you can look away. But you must hold that plate just right.”

“I'm not squeamish!” He protested, and snatched the plate up.

“Let's hope so,” Hira murmured, dropping on her knees besides the man. She reached up, smoothing the hair back from his face. “Nanashi?” 

He barely managed to open his eyes and look her way. 

She held one of the small bamboo tubes up. “I have poppy, for the pain. By the time I get your wounds ready to clean, it should blunt the worst of it.”

“No...” he managed to grit through his teeth. “No poppy.”

She gave him a slightly sad smile, and picked up the small piece of wood. Kotaro could see a lot of suspicious looking indentations on it. “I thought as much,” she murmured and held it out for Kotaro. “When I get ready to clean his wounds, you give him this to bite on.”

“Why?” Kotaro asked.

“Because what I'm about to do is going to make him scream. Biting on this will help him control those screams.”

The boy looked at her with trepidation. “Scream?”

“I have to get him cleaned up before I reopen the wounds and disinfect them. It's going to be very painful. It's also the only way to save his life.”

Now the boy began to look really scared.

***

It was not a pretty sight. 

Preparing his wounds for cleaning was nothing compared to the muffled howl of pain that involuntarily ripped out of Nanashi. Hira had to pour an alcoholic tincture into the opened side wound. Kotaro had slipped the wood between his teeth and he bit down hard. His eyes clenched shut and his entire body involuntarily jolted at the stinging, burning sensation. There followed her application of the sterilised knife, reopening the wound for further bleeding and cleansing. 

Kotaro had never seen anything like this and he was both horrified and nauseous as Hira worked. Several times she admonished him to hold the reflecting plate steady as she probed, poured and dabbed at the wound. 

Nanashi, curled into a semi-fetal ball, alternated gut wrenching groans of pain with whimpers as he endured what needed to be done. Tears even leaked involuntarily from his eyes, causing Kotaro to be even more alarmed. Then began the stitching. When she finished with his side Nanashi was limp with exhaustion. He panted, his breath hissing past the chunk of wood still clenched between his teeth. He trembled from the ordeal. The tears from the pain tracked down his face.

Hira glanced at a silent Kotaro, looking white as a sheet, holding the plate in his shaking hands. “Kotaro?” she said, finally addressing the boy by his name. “You can set the plate down now. Use that cloth there and bathe his face. It will help him feel better.”

The boy slowly lowered the plate down and dropped on his knees near Nanashi's head, reaching for the cloth. Nanashi nearly wept more tears of relief, when the boy began wiping down his face. “Why is he crying?” he asked worriedly.

“The pain causes the tears, and also the relief.” Hira said as she took up a very thin piece of cloth and strained off the herbs from one of the tinctures she had been heating on the metal grate. “Just do his face and his neck. I'll have to clean his shoulder and arm next.”

The boy nodded, watching as she took up a cloth bag and pulled out a few chunks of beeswax. She added them to the strained liquid. As she waited for the beeswax to melt, she moved the candles. Setting them up to where they could illuminate Nanashi's right arm, then she leaned over him, gently tugging the wood piece from his clenched teeth. 

Somehow or another he managed to find the strength to crack one eye open, glancing gratefully at Kotaro, who was dabbing at his neck, before he glanced up at Hira. 

She smiled gently, stroking his damp hair back from his face. “That was the worst of it,” she murmured to him. “You're side is all stitched. I still need to work on your arm. I'm making a balm to help with the healing. Just keep breathing from dantian. You're doing good. I'm going to roll you onto your back now...”

He nodded, closing his eyes wearily.

Hira glanced at Kotaro. “Switch places with me,” she said to him, as she rose to her feet. “You can just wipe his face down now.”

“Will he be all right?” Kotaro asked, his voice now timid, and uncertain. 

Hira smiled at him, settling on her knees and guiding Nanashi onto his back. “If I have anything to say about it, he will. But it is going to take some time.”

“Why?”

“He's overexerted himself. With these broken bones, the bruising, blood loss, these wounds not being cleaned right away, he's sick on top of it. Infection will do that. What I'm trying to prevent is fluid building up in his lungs. That's why I have him clutching the pillow and breathing as deeply as he can.” She explained beginning to clean up his shoulder and wounded forearm. 

“You must have been in quite the battle for him to get like this.”

“He saved me...” Kotaro said, soaking his cloth, dabbing at Nanashi's face.

“You probably saved him as well, getting out of there.” Hira pointed out. 

Kotaro glanced at her, “I'm sorry I was so mean...” he said.

“Fear can do that,” Hira said gently, smiling at the boy. “Fold the cloth and set it over his eyes. Then hand me that little knife I set back in the water there.” She said pointing her chin towards the irori. “This is still going to be painful for him, but not anything like what I just had to do. If you work with me, we can make it go faster.” 

Kotaro nodded, gently settling the damp cloth over Nanashi's eyes, then he reached over and picked up the little knife.

It was late, very late, by the time Hira finished working on Nanashi. Once having got his side wound and his arm tended to, she'd stripped his hakama off of him, along with his tabi socks, and tended to the cuts and slices he'd had on his legs. Particularly a deep one above his right ankle.

She'd gently coaxed Kotaro to help, having him clean the cuts as she dealt with any that needed stitching. Then she had him help dab each and every cut Nanashi had on him with the fragrant balm that had cooled enough to begin applying to the wounds. She explained to the boy as they worked that it contained several different herbs and tinctures necessary to prevent infection and to aid in helping the body to heal.

With the boy's help, Hira bandaged the side wound, his shoulder and the through and through puncture wound on his forearm. The rest she left to the open air. She again shifted the man onto his wounded side, resettling the pillow on his chest and his arms across it. He was limp and semi conscious by that time. She wondered whether or not she should bind his ribs.

“Help me gather his clothes and these towels.” Hira said as she stood up. “Then come with me.”

Kotaro was reluctant to leave Nanashi's side, but then he stood up, and began gathering things off the floor as Hira quickly began cleaning things up from her work. Minutes later, she lead Kotaro to the large ginkgo fusuma and stepped around behind it.

Following her, Kotaro frowned as she stepped through an opening in the wall. Behind it they entered a very short narrow corridor that attached to the rest of the en that surrounded the house. Amado shutters were in place but they didn't stop the blast of cold that caused Kotaro to gasp. Hira smiled back at him and stepped down onto another wood covered floor. 

To Kotaro's astonishment he entered a small, very dry, cave. The house was not actually attached to the side of the mountain. Instead, a small, roof covered, corridor extended into the cave's mouth and opened up inside it. Somehow large racks had been attached to the ceiling from which a bewildering variety of herbs, and root vegetables hung. Further back was another irori from which a low banked fire was burning. Over it was a larger cauldron full of water. Hira, taking up a bamboo stick from nearby, dumped towels and clothes into the pot.

Past the irori, the cave extended further back, stopping abruptly at a pair of custom fit shoji panels. Along both walls stood chests and shelves and a bewildering array of different sized bamboo tubes. Some sat vertically, some were stocked on racks horizontally. It was a dry, spacious, working room and storage area.

Kotaro stood and stared with awe.

She turned to the boy, taking the rags and towels he held and added them to the pot. 

“What is all this?” he asked.

“This is where the things I need to tend to people are dried and prepared. I store food in here, and it's also where I wash clothes and things. Here...” she turned from the washing pot. She selected a few negi onions, a daikon, some purple nasu and a few other items then handed them to the boy. She picked up a small shallow cast iron pot and filled it with uncooked rice from a nearby bin before she turned to Kotaro.

“I imagine you're quite hungry,” she asked. “When was the last time you ate?”

Almost instantly Kotaro's stomach growled as he hungrily eyed the food she was loading into his arms. His cheeks turned pink. Hira just smiled, gathering a few more things. “C'mon then. You can go out and collect a few eggs from the birds, while I get this started.”

“Eggs?!” he exclaimed, his mouth beginning to water.

“Of course, come on...” she said stepping onto the engawa corridor. Kotaro hurried after her.

By the time he returned, carefully carrying four eggs he'd managed to find, Hira had the rice boiling, the vegetables cut up and simmering and was gently re-settling Nanashi on his side on the shikibuton pad she had brought out earlier. He was, for all intents and purposes, asleep. The other pad was set perpendicular to the irori and covered with a quilt. Tobimaru had already claimed it, much to Hira's amusement. She settled a kakebuton blanket over Nanashi when the boy returned, stopping at the genkan.

He blinked at how quickly the washitsu room had changed from what had amounted to be a messy surgery room, back into a comfortable living room. Already he could smell the food cooking. Hira relieved him of the eggs as he stripped off his sandals.

“Nanashi?” he asked, glancing at the man with worry on his face.

“Resting,” Hira said. “For now.” She cleaned off the eggs before slipping them into a small simmering water pot then went into the storage room to their left. She emerged a moment later carrying a chabudai table and a bundle of cloth.

Setting the chabudai down near the fire pit, she handed the bundle of cloth to the boy. He frowned, perplexed, taking it from her.

“In that room,” she said nodding from where she had just come. “Is the toire. You can clean up and change into this. It's a bit large. I don't normally have children staying here, but it should work out all right. Then you can give me your clothes so that I can wash them up with everything else. By the time you get done with all that, the food should be ready to eat.”

Kotaro looked down at a juban she set into his arms. He looked a little dumbfounded.

Hira just smiled, realizing the boy was beyond tired. “Go on,” she urged.

“H...How are we going to pay you for all of this?” he suddenly stammered. Hira looked at him, then smiled, setting her hand on his head. 

“Child,” she murmured, softly. “I'm a healer. I treat people's needs regardless of who they are and whether or not they can pay. It doesn't matter if you have money or not. My job is to heal. In whatever way I can. Don't worry yourself. You've helped tonight, that will be payment enough, all right?”

“But I haven't been very nice...” He muttered looking down at his feet. “My temper gets the better of me.”

“A short temper that comes out when you're afraid. Are you still afraid?” she asked.

“No... Well...” he looked at Nanashi. “I'm afraid for him. He saved my life... He came back for me.”

Hira smiled at him, “You and I will do what we can to make sure he's all right. Now, go change into that robe and you can eat. Your stomach is louder than the dog's...”

He had the grace to blush, then he scampered off. 

His food was waiting for him by the futon pad she had laid out on the floor. Tobimaru was happily chowing down on a bowl of his own food. The white under-robe he had cinched tightly around his waist, drug on the floor, eliciting a wry smile from Hira as she took his clothes from him. Reassuring him that they would be clean and dry later, she encouraged him to wrap up in the comforter and eat.

“What about Nanashi?” He asked, staring hungrily at the vegetables and rice. A whole, sliced, boiled egg lay across the top. His mouth was watering.

“He's too tired to eat right now. I'll have broth for him later. Right now, he needs all the sleep and rest he can get.” Hira glanced at the man, then took the clothes away. “Don't wait for me, Kotaro, eat that food...” she called back.

He didn't need to be told twice.

In the small cave, Hira checked on the state of things then moved over to the rack of horizontally stored bamboo tubes. She pulled down a lengthy one, then a few of the smaller ones, and returned to the washitsu.

What greeted her, as she took the tubes into the small storage room was Kotaro, his bowl absolutely inhaled, sitting with his eyes closed, leaning to one side. He tried to sit up straight when she had entered the room but then failed as a warm tummy and exhaustion crept back in.

Coming back out, she stopped by his side, and eased the bowl and chopsticks out of his hands. Then she gently laid him over onto the shikibuton. Tobimaru, frog crawled up besides the boy, tail waving, looking at Hira as she reached down and ruffled the top of the dog's head.

“I bet he doesn't take his short temper out on you?” She murmured, reaching over for the comforter.

The boy was completely out before she could even get the blanket over him.

Heaving a sigh, Hira rose, setting the bowl on the chabudai then went to Nanashi's side. She checked his main wound, then made sure the pillow he was clutching was still in place. He never stirred as she tended to him, finally settling a hand on his forehead. A slight frown of dismay ghosted across her face as she felt the heat of his fever. She moistened the cloth, settling it over his eyes and turned towards the irori, tired beyond measure.

She was hungry now, and she knew with this patient, she wouldn't be getting any sleep any time soon. She fixed her own bowl of food, making sure the broth continued to simmer and checking the state of the irori fire. Then she retrieved the broken katana, setting it on the table and contemplated it a long time as she ate.


	4. Chapter 4

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The Healer

  


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4.

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The aroma of cooking food, and the murmuring of a low conversation caused Kotaro to arouse from his slumbers. That and Tobimaru wriggling out from underneath the comforter. The dog then begged Hira to open up the amaro shutters to let him outside.

Kotaro sat up, rubbing at his eyes, breathing in the smell of the food and yawned. Then he stopped and stared. Next to his bed was a small stack of clothes. Actually they were his clothes, cleaned and dried. He blinked in sleepy incomprehension for a moment then looked over at Nanashi.

Hira was resettling him on his side, facing the fire, wrapping his arms around the pillow. He looked positively grey, and his eyes appeared bruised. He never opened them, just letting out a soft moan, once she had him shifted into a new position. There was a slight catch in his breathing. Hira murmured something in his ear, then pulled the comforter back up over him. He did not respond.

“Nanashi?” the boy asked, still palming one eye. Hira looked up at him, briefly resting the backs of her fingers on the man's forehead.

“Good morning,” she said to him. Kotaro just blinked, then looked around for his dog.

“He needed to go out,” Hira said as she slowly climbed to her feet. “I'm assuming your dog has a name?”

“Tobimaru...” Kotaro muttered still looking at Nanashi anxiously. Hira could see the look directed towards him.

“He's resting as best as he can. He's going to be sleeping a lot for the next few days. He's a sick man.”

“Days?” Kotaro asked.

“Yes, his fever is high,” she said, kneeling back down between the fire and the chabudai. “He needs to be able to fight off the infection he's got from those wounds.” She glanced over what was cooking, then over at the half awake boy. “For him to do that he needs sleep and rest and quiet.” 

She smiled at the boy. “Wake up, sleepy. Go clean yourself up and you can have breakfast. Then, we can go and take the ducks down to the pond.”

Food being the great motivator, Kotaro clumsily got up and obeyed. Once he dressed and neatened up his bed, he sat with his bowl of food, tucking in with a youngsters never ending appetite. Tentatively he ventured to ask, “Why do you live so far away from the village? If you're a healer, wouldn't you want to be closer to people?”

Hira, sitting across the irori from the boy, had Nanashi's fringed, haori robe in her lap and was applying a needle and thread to it. She glanced up at the boy. “This is my home. This is where I stay. The villagers know that if they have a serious enough ailment or injury, they can come to me for treatment. Otherwise I won't waste my time or skills on those who just want someone to lavish attention on them. The apothecaries and healers in town can do those people.”

“But what if someone can't get to you?”

“I can -and do- go to them in such cases, but I do not stay in the village. It is a mutual arrangement.”

“But why?”

“That, is not for a boy to trouble himself with.”

“I'm not stupid!” Kotaro protested. 

“I never implied you were, oh, impetuous one. Some things are just best left in the past and not to be troubled with. The village and I have a nice working arrangement. We barter and trade for services or pay. It works nicely. I don't wish to disturb that. Besides, I'm a very particular kind of healer. So, finish cleaning that bowl out, and I can show you the pond. If you like you can fish too. There's trout and carp in it. You might even catch something for your servant, there...” She left that one hanging.

“He's...” Kotaro paused, “He's not really my servant... not any more.”

“Ah...” Hira said softly, knotting the thread for a seam she had repaired then neatly bit the thread in two. She prepared to work on a new spot.

“He is my friend though.”

“I thought as much. Enough of one that you rode a very long way to get him here.”

Kotaro looked abashed. “Yeah, well he... he helped me.”

“And so you are helping him.”

“We're going to travel! We're going to go to a foreign country. Get away from these Ming.” There was enough acrimony in the last word to tell exactly how the boy felt about them.

“Are you now?” Hira asked, raising an eyebrow, shifting Nanashi's robe around, hunting out a hole to repair. “That will be a great expense.”

“We're going to hire out as bodyguards,” The boy continued. “He's going to teach me how to use a sword. He's really good!”

“Teach you? That might be a bit of a problem considering his katana is useless now...” Hira pointed out.

Kotaro looked dejected. “We'll just have to come up with some ryo to buy a new one.”

Hira paused, threading the needle she held and studied the boy a moment. “There could be ways around that,” she said to him. She stuck her needle in near the next hole to repair and gathered the robe up, setting it on the chabudai. Rising to her feet, she said. “Come on!”

Though the house was opulent by most standards, Hira's home was not surrounded by luscious gardens. Something Kotaro actually expected to see, having been raised in temples where the gardens were normally immaculate. Hira's were strictly utilitarian. She grew as many of her vegetables and herbs herself, explaining to the boy that anything she couldn't grow, she either hunted down or bartered for them. 

The grounds swept out and away, formerly a meadow, with one section, leading to the pond actually in steppes for growing rice. A stream ran alongside it, her source of water, feeding the pond and meandering its way from there down the foothills. She led the boy to the barn, letting both their horse and her own small, rotund pony out into a nearby pasture. She opened up the chicken coop, then gathered a small pan of feed and went over to where the ducks were housed.

“Now, they are imprinted on me, and will follow me where ever I like. However, once they know that you have this,” she held the feed up, “They'll follow you down to the pond. Did you tend ducks at the temple you lived at?”

Kotaro paused, seeing the enormous goose taking up a solitary stance in front of the duck house. He stretched his long neck up, eyeing them with a beady black eye, the knob on its forehead looking hard and painful, should he decide to use it.... Tobimaru promptly began to growl.

“I uh, did, for a little while.” Kotaro replied reluctantly. Hira glanced at him, as the goose began to puff itself up.

“Gacho!” Hira snapped at the bird. Almost immediately it began a protesting honk. Hira just pointed at the path behind them. “Gacho! Go!”

Lifting its head higher and looking at them in disdain, the big bird waddled imperiously past them, giving the dog the evil eye as it marched sedately back around the front of the house.

“He's mean!” Kotaro remarked.

“And that is precisely his function. He guards the cemetery and the path. Let's me know in plenty of time if anyone is coming.”

“So that's how you knew we were here last night...” Kotaro said as she was greeted by a quacking, chirping chorus of ducks upon letting them out.

“I would say Gacho is as good a guard animal as your Tobimaru there. Here...” She handed the plate of feed to him. “Just sprinkle a little of this behind you and head down that path. I'll be behind you, making sure the ducks follow you. It's not far. The pond is fairly large. There's poles and spears down there to fish with. If you'd like. Or you can come back up here and help me.”

“Help with what?” Kotaro asked, idly poking a finger through the feed.

“There is always herbs and roots and bark to prepare. I need to make more of that balm for Nanashi's wounds. They help with the infection. There's also the last of my root vegetables to put up for the winter. A barn to clean, clothes to mend. There is plenty of work to be done. If you help me, young man,” she glanced slyly at him. “I may even be able to do something about that katana...”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked as she poked her chin at the path and urged him to begin leading the ducks down it. A dozen or so ducks were mobbing them both.

“I know a thing or two about repairing such things,” she said as he started dribbling the grains behind him and heading out.

“Why would you know that?” He asked.

“Oh my boy, I am a healer, and not just for people.” Hira responded mysteriously with mirth in her voice.

For a boy, full of curiosity, eager to learn, happily fed and energetic, Hira's grounds proved to be a very large playground to go and explore in. For herself, she spent the greater part of the morning tending to the barn, and the remaining crops to be harvested, turning the compost heap, before she cleaned herself and returned to the house.

As she approached the irori, to check on the fire, she glanced at Nanashi. 

His eyes were open. She could see the feverish glimmer of light in them and she paused a moment, studying his face. He was contemplating the ceramic water pot.

“Are you awake?” she asked softly, moving around and kneeling beside him. He glanced at her with the ghost of a smile on his lips. She filled the cup then helped him to drink.

“Thank you...” he managed to whisper after downing the contents. She just smiled, setting the cup aside.

“Are you in any pain?” she asked, looking at his grey features. 

“Besides feeling like I've been trampled on by horses?” he managed to croak. Hira couldn't hide the smile that curled her lips. The fact he wasn't gasping for breath between words was encouraging.

“A sense of humour is good. Do the wounds hurt?”

“Not any worse than usual...” he whispered.

“How about your breathing? Do you feel any pressure on your chest?”

“Yes...” he murmured, “Inhaling isn't too fun.”

“I could bind your ribs? That might make it easier. It's more important that you keep breathing from dantian.”

“That might not be a bad idea,” he said wearily. Hira nodded, and rose to her feet. 

She returned a moment later with a thick, rolled, band of cloth. It took a few minutes to get him sat up enough for her to be able to snugly wrap the bandaging around his lower chest. The effort literally draining what reserves of energy he had managed to retain. However, the effort did help him be able to breathe a little easier. She helped him to settle down on his back.

“Are you hungry? I have rice porridge. A special mix I make, with honey and ginger. It won't upset your stomach.” She asked.

He frowned slightly, then shook his head, clutching the pillow back to his chest. “Not just now...” he whispered. “Just want water more than anything..”

“I have something a little better than that,” She said, “I have a tea here, with ginger and lemon grass and a few other things. It's not hot, and it will help with that fever.”

He managed a slight smile, “You're the healer...” he said. She had the grace to blush slightly as she lifted a small pot and poured some of the tea into the cup.

This time he was able to hold it on his own, Hira only helping him to keep his head enough to drink it. “It's quiet in here...” he remarked, his eyes closing as she resettled his head on the other pillow.

“Yes it is. It's good for when one needs to recuperate. You pushed yourself too hard.”

“Had to be done.” He muttered back. “Kotaro?” he asked.

She smiled, “He's down at my pond, trying to fish and playing with my ducks.”

“Is he being a terror?”

“Occasionally. He's got a lot of fear, for a boy. That brings out the aggression. I can work around that. Don't you concern yourself with him. I can keep him busy and distracted. He's got big plans for you.”

“Don't I know it...” Nanashi replied dryly, reaching up tentatively with his right hand, to rub at his face. He looked a moment at his hand, realizing he hadn't been able to move it at all just the night before. He looked at Hira.

“Before you say it,” she said to him, “I'm not just a healer. I chose to leave it like that, however. It is sufficient.”

“How high up?” He asked.

“High enough.” Was her simple response. 

Nanashi watched her, then dropped his gaze. “I don't mean to be impertinent,” he said.

“Somehow, I think that is unlikely coming from you. I've dealt with many a samurai and ronin. I know the quality ones.”

“I would hardly call myself that,” he said wearily, closing his eyes.

“Just as I would say the same about myself,” she responded. “Nevertheless, I'm rarely wrong in my assumptions.” She smiled at him. “Just the fact you did this to yourself rescuing a boy who is not your kin, speaks volumes.”

Nanashi gazed at her a moment, weighing her words. 

She smiled at him, “I'm proficient in shiatsu. If you'd like to shift sides I can work on your back.”

“Shiatsu?” he asked. “Then that would mean...” he started to say realizing she had been a healer for the samurai class, quite possibly to a shogun or higher. Implications began creeping into his thoughts like tendrils.

Hira raised a hand and stopped him. “That was a former life. This is now. I don't withhold my skills. If anyone needs my particular talents, I'm willing to provide it. I don't just serve the elite.”

He studied her. Definitely a healer to shoguns...

“I won't apply full pressure,” she said, looking away from his gaze. “But I can apply just enough pressure to relax your back and especially to help with your breathing. I can still hear wheezing. I don't want fluid building up in your lungs.”

“That...” Nanashi murmured, wondering idly how long it had been since he had had something like this, “would be divine.”

Hira huffed softly in amusement. Not many people turned down a massage.

Hira helped him into a more accessible position, pulling the comforter down to his waist to expose his back. Nanashi tried to get his too tense shoulders to relax. 

“Your chi is all blocked. Don't try and force yourself to relax. Just let me work things out. You'll be better off.” She said

“No arguments there...” he mumbled, heaving a sigh.

Hira studied the criss crossing scars on his back and shoulders. Reaching up, she threaded her fingers into his hair at the back of his head and set her thumbs on either side of the cervical vertebrae. 

His soft sigh of sheer relief when she applied the slightest pressure with her thumbs, brought out both a smile of satisfaction her part, but also a puzzled frown. She tilted her head slightly, gently working her thumbs in his hairline. Her other fingers, parted some of his hair aside.

“Akage...?” she murmured softly, there was no mistaking the dark burgundy roots of his 'black' hair.

“Eh?” Nanashi mumbled, opening one eye. 

She slowly worked her way to the base of his neck. Admittedly, his neck and shoulders were tight with tension. Hira smiled gently, beginning to work her way down each vertebrae, her thumbs applying equal pressure on either side. She could feel the shiatsu working on him as he relaxed. 

“Hush...” she replied, moving her thumbs down, flicking hair out of the way and checking another section of his head to confirm her thoughts. He did not have naturally black hair. Gently working her way down his neck she contemplated him.

She knew the rumours. 

Akage. 

Red Hair. 

The Akai Akuma. 

The Red Devil. 

A mysterious samurai of the now, long obliterated Oatari district. One who worked mostly in the shadows and had risen up the ranks of bushi from vassal to hatamoto at an alarmingly steady clip. 

A cloud of mystery surrounded such a figure. A samurai to be feared. One who had vanished shortly after the Oatari daimyo had successfully conquered another district. That same daimyo eventually succumbing to another lord later on. 

The Red Devil was a myth to many people. Yet among the samurai class... 

He was an oft whispered about legend, before an even more mysterious fall from grace. Gossip and hearsay made much about him throwing all his prestige and honour away to become a disreputable ronin. His abandoning his position even being hinted at as the reason his former lord fell. Many a shogun had contemptuously dismissed him for having deserted his lord over a point of honour.

Hira, gently working her way down his neck and upper back, let out a sigh. The man under her ministration was in real danger of death simply for saving the life of a child. What was dishonourable about that? He'd clearly shown, twice now, his concern for the boy over himself.

She could tell, as she set her thumbs on either side of a vertebra, he was falling asleep. His breathing, still with a bit of a wheeze, had evened out, deep and slow. Exactly what he needed. She stopped upon reaching the bandaging around his ribs, reaching down to pull the kakebuton back up around his neck. With any luck he'd sleep for a goodly while, so long as he stayed warm and quiet.

She checked the state of his fever one last time, then rose to her feet, feeling utterly weary herself.


	5. Chapter 5

##  ****

The Healer

  


****

## ****

5.

Snow began to fall late that afternoon, as twilight settled on the mountains. Kotaro had been full of questions, enjoying the chance to actually just be a child, playing with ducks and Tobimaru. With the boy's help, Hira rounded up chickens and ducks, stabled the pony and horse, and prepared the house for the coming weather. He had managed to spear a sizeable trout which Hira promised they could eat for dinner, once he cleaned and got it prepared.

Seeing his reluctance at the task, she slipped a hand inside the sleeve of her robe, producing a kaiken knife. He blinked in surprise that she had it hidden there. Then, in an economy of skill, she unsheathed it and showed him how to clean the fish. 

He had been curious about the cemetery. She explained that there were times when a patient simply could not be saved from death. This particular cemetery was more for those who had no one to bury them. Other's who passed beyond her abilities to heal had family who could care for their mortal remains. The goose, somehow or another, had decided that the cemetery was his and the corresponding path in front of it. Hira told the boy that the spirits of the dead had taken over the goose to keep the cemetery, and herself, safe.

“How do you know all this stuff?” he finally asked.

“Oh...” Hira said, “My family had many healers, samurai, and metalsmiths. My female relations learned much from them, as did I. Our job was the defense of the home when the men were away. That didn't stop us from being attacked though. We had to fight for ourselves, and we had to tend to the wounded and sick, both at home and those from the battlefield.”

“Where is your family then? Why aren't you with them?”

“I am with them...” Hira said, and nodded towards the cemetery. “This cemetery is not just for the poor and abandoned. My family is all in there.”

Kotaro stopped and stared at her a moment. “All of them?” he asked.

Hira nodded. “All of them. You saw that burned out estate on the ride up here, no doubt?” She asked him.

Kotaro nodded.

“That was our ancestral home. I was with my husband and his family when this place was attacked. I returned here to bury my family and then my husband. I chose to stay here, our summer home, and made it mine.”

“What about your husband's family? Or your family? Don't you have a son?”

“Eh, boy! You're impertinent aren't you?”

“It's just a question...” the boy muttered. 

Hira smiled at him. “There were no children. My husband's family is better left in the past. Come on, you. I have sweet potatoes to go with that fish. How does that sound?”

“Satsumaimo's?!” the boy exclaimed, his face brightening. “Really?”

“Of course, we can even use some of that fish to make up something for Nanashi. He could use it.”

“Is he going to be all right?”

“So long as you keep helping me by catching such fine fish, he will be...” Hira said, “It's just going to take some time for him to heal. See that plant over there?” She nodded at the bush in question. “That's shiso, go pick me a few big leaves to wrap this fish in and we can go cook it.”

As the boy moved to do her bidding she asked. “Tell me more about how he got his name?”

“Nanashi? He said he'd been found as a baby in a shipwreck. The people who raised him called him that because he didn't have a name.” Kotaro plucked off three of the biggest leaves and returned to Hira, who promptly wrapped the fish in them.

“I see. That makes more sense now, doesn't it?”

“I suppose...”

“A baby in a shipwreck wouldn't know his name.” Hira replied, picking the fish up and heading for the engawa. “So whoever found him had to give him something.”

“Yeah...” Kotaro agreed. “I promised him I'd give him a good strong name.”

“Did you now? Seems to me, as well, that Nanashi is destined to have a somewhat adventurous life.” 

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“A baby found in a shipwreck, grows up to be a samurai. He fights in many battles and then becomes a wandering ronin who later gains a boy for a companion. Sounds like the stuff of legends and tales doesn't it?”

“Hey,” Kotaro looked as if a light went off inside his head. “You're right... It does sound like a great story!”

“Yes...” Hira encouraged, “And you are one of the main characters in it.” As they approached the genkan she said. “Just be quiet going in, Kotaro, Nanashi may still be sleeping.”

“I will...” he said as they paused to remove sandals.

He actually didn't rouse until she had the fish grilling over the fire. He was on his back, and didn't feel much like moving. Upon seeing his eyes flutter open, Hira resettled herself by him. Sweat dampened both his temples, and she moistened the rag to mop at his face.

“Think you can sit up?” She asked.

“Maybe a little...” he muttered. She nodded and lent her support. As he winced out loud, reflexively running his hand across his ribs, she resettled the comforter around his shoulders. 

“You're fever is up,” she said. “That may be a good thing. Means your body is trying to fight back.”

Nanashi nodded, reaching up with his other hand to clutch at the blanket. He looked around, seeing Tobimaru, but not Kotaro.

“He's in the toire,” she said. “He's had a very busy day.”

“Is he behaving himself?”

“Oh yes. Even caught his own dinner. Are you hungry at all?”

“Not really...” He said. “Though some of that tea wouldn't go amiss.”

Hira smiled, and fetched the cup. Handing it to him, she said. “I've tried to repair the worst of the rents and tears on your clothes, but I am afraid your juban is a loss. I have an extra. You are more than welcome to it.”

“You've repaired my clothes?” he asked, pausing, and looking at her over the top of the cup. 

“Of course... I don't just stitch up people.”

He stared at her a moment. 

Hira shook her head, smiling. “The whole idea behind being a healer is for the patient to leave in a better state then when they came in. I don't just tend to bodies. I tend soul and spirit as well.”

“And the clothes?”

“It's all one and the same. Proper clothes, proper rest, proper medicine, proper food.”

“You were definitely bushi class...” he commented. “Most apothecaries and village healers just take your money and run.” 

Hira just huffed at him. “There are those whom I would charge an emporer's ransom for my services. There are others whom I would not. Each situation is unique.” She smiled, picked up the small teapot and set it near him. “Let me go get it, its going to be colder tonight.”

Entering the storage room, Kotaro was sliding the shoji back over the toire's entrance. He looked up at her.

“Somebody is awake....” She said, nodding her head towards the washitsu. His face lit up and within minutes she could hear him excitedly babbling about his days adventures. She found the clean white under robe, and added another pair of tabi to go with it and returned to the room. 

Now that he was sat up, albiet listing somewhat to one side, Nanashi eyed the food on the grates in the irori. Hira set the clothes besides him, smiling at Kotaro's prattling.

“I promised someone some sweet potatoes with dinner.” She said to Nanashi then looked at Kotaro. “Will you help him get those on, while I go fetch them?” she indicated the clothes she set down.

“Sure!” Kotaro chirped. 

Nanashi glanced at him then looked up at her. “Unbelievable!” He muttered, shaking his head slowly, sipping at the tea. “What happened to the evil little terror I rode in here with?”

“Hey!” Kotaro protested.

Hira giggled, a magical sound, and went around behind the ginkgo fusuma to the cave. “You're not the only patient in this house,” Her voice floated back.

“What's that supposed to mean!?” Kotaro asked, as he helped Nanashi get the under robe on.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” she said seconds later, emerging from behind the fusuma with two sweet potatoes. She settled on her knees by the irori, slipping the potatoes into the coals of the fire.

“You know...” Nanashi said, as he tucked the robe awkwardly around him. “I think maybe a bowl of that okayu might go down.” He fumbled a little, trying to pull the blanket back around his shoulders.

Hira glanced at him, as Kotaro began helping him get the tabi on his feet. “The ginger helps with digestion and honey does wonders for infections.” She said as she got a bowl and filled it, then produced a thick ceramic spoon. 

Handing it over to him Kotaro replied. “Geez, you really have become a baby! You can't get your clothes on, you can't read or write, and now you're eating baby food!”

Several things happened at once. 

Nanashi actually blushed, heaved a sigh, closed his eyes and shook his head. 

Hira looked at the boy in astonishment then began laughing. She tried to hide her mirth with her hand and she looked at Nanashi, the light in her eyes dancing with mischief.

“Did he just call you an illiterate baby?” She broke down into fresh giggling.

“That he did...” Nanashi muttered. “I told you he's unbelievable.”

“Well!” Kotaro burst out, affronted. “It's the truth!”

“Oh, my dear boy,” Hira laughed. “If you believe that I have pigs that fly!”

“It's the truth!” Kotaro exploded. “He can't get his clothes on, he's eating okayu and he can't read or write!”

“He's hurting too much to be able to get his clothes on," she pointed out mirthfully. “And okayu isn't just baby food, its easier to digest. And besides,” Hira laughed again. “He's samurai. He's far from illiterate!”

“Uh oh...” Nanashi suddenly muttered, looking at Kotaro who was looking at him with incredulous shock.

Hira, trying to muffle the laughter, looked at them both. “What?” she asked.

“You can read and write?!” Kotaro demanded. 

Nanashi had the grace to look abashed as he poked the ceramic spoon into the rice. “'Fraid' so kiddo...”

The boy looked at him in offended horror, his mouth dropping open.

“Oh dear!” Hira said, trying to hide her mirth. “I think someone's just had a rude shock.”

“Why you...!” Kotaro started, and stomped his foot. “You've lied to me all this time!?”

“I haven't lied to you,” Nanashi pointed out. “You never asked. You just assumed.”

At that Hira's laughing began anew. 

“That's... that's...” the boy spluttered. “That's just so wrong!”

“Why?” Nanashi asked, spooning some of the okayu up. He'd never had it with just ginger and honey. The taste, however, was beyond delicious and he glanced at Hira, raising an eyebrow.

“I thought you were...” the boy stammered. “I mean, you had me write that note to that old man.”

“I didn't make you write it. You volunteered.” Nanashi pointed out. “The rest just played out the way it did.”

“Which you didn't exactly refute.” Hira tossed out, checking on the state of the fish.

“Yeah!” Kotaro pounced. 

“No sense in giving everything away,” Nanashi replied. “A good thing to learn if you're gonna learn how to use a sword.” He managed a few more mouthfuls of food.

“That and knowledge being power. Which is why samurai are never illiterate.” Hira added.

Kotaro, still offended, just looked at them both sourly. “He's still eating baby food.” He pouted.

“Okayu is easier for the sick and injured to eat,” Hira corrected. “And besides, you certainly ate your fair share of it last night.”

“I was hungry!” Kotaro protested.

Nanashi managed a pain-filled chuckle. “You better quit while your ahead...” he set the half eaten bowl of food aside, rather near an expectantly waiting Tobimaru.

“Better yet...” Hira said, checking on the state of the fish. “You need to eat some of this while its still hot.” She fixed up a plate and handed it over to him. 

Reluctantly conceding the argument, he flopped down on the floor and began devouring the fish he'd caught.

With a smile, Hira looked over at Nanashi, who was carefully laying back down again, his energy drained just from the little effort he had managed to spend. 

Letting Tobimaru finish off the bowl of okayu, Hira retrieved it asking, “Are you warm enough?”

“Yeah...” Nanashi sigh, pulling the comforter back up. “I'm just damned tired.”

“You will be, for a goodly while,” She pointed out. “It's going to take some time for you to work your strength back up.”

“You don't need to tell me that twice...” he muttered, closing his eyes wearily.

“That should make my job a little easier,” Hira said dryly, eliciting a huff and a wince from him.

“So tell me...” Nanashi asked, heaving a sigh as he laid his head back down, glancing over where she sat. “Why do you live so far from the village?”

“It's a mutual arrangement.”

A puzzled frown appeared between Nanashi's brows as he focused past her and onto a pine tree covered wall opposite them. “Mutual agreement?” He asked.

“It seems odd.” Hira said slowly, poking a knife at one of the sweet potato's. “The village has apothecaries and healers to deal with most everyone. However, if they need something more explicit, they know they can come up here and get treated by me. They leave me in peace. We barter and trade for services and goods. I only have to go into the village three, maybe four, times a year. Otherwise, I stay here and tend to my crops and any patients truly needing my services.”

She looked up at Kotaro, holding out a hand for the plate he had cleaned of fish. “Someone deserves a sweet potato for that fish he caught today.”

“You mean those guys could have treated him in the village?!” Kotaro exclaimed. “And they sent us all the way up here?!”

“They know when they're in over there heads.” Hira smiled at the boy, placing the baked potato on his plate and handing it back. She looked over at Nanashi. “One look at your condition last night and I knew they did the right thing sending you here.”

“By the way...” Nanashi asked, breaking his puzzled thoughts away from her answer to his question. “What's with the goose?”

“Gacho?” Hira asked and began to giggle.

“She says he's possessed!” Kotaro butt in.

“Oh really?” Nanashi looked at Hira. “I'm half inclined to believe it...”

“Gacho thinks the cemetery and the pathway in front of it are his,” She said, fixing herself up a plate of food. “He doesn't mind me, because he knows where his food comes from. Otherwise, he's my watch dog. Warns me in plenty of time when some one is coming.”

“Sort of like someone we know...” Nanashi glanced over at Tobimaru, who was watching Kotaro attack the hot sweet potato with a dog's amazing gift for miming starved pathetic misery.

“That dog is eating better than all of us...” Hira said ruefully then asked. “Are you sure you don't want any of this?” Indicating the food.

“It does smell wonderful...” Nanashi admitted, running his hand up his chest and gazing at the ceiling. “I don't think my stomach is going to agree with it at this point in time.” He let his eyes close. His thoughts returned to the question he had asked her.

“The okayu will stay down, I assure you of that.” Hira said. 

“It's still baby food.” Kotaro muttered. 

Not opening his eyes, though raising an eyebrow, Nanashi asked, “Can you believe this kid?” 

“Seems to me someone just like having the last word...” Hira replied, watching Nanashi smirk.

Clean up didn't take long, Hira insisting that Kotaro help her out, giving Nanashi a little peace. Returning from the cave, he lazily opened his eyes, while the boy told him what was actually behind the enormous ginkgo fusuma. While he did, Hira moved one of the pine panels aside, revealing the extensive shelving system behind it and looked for something specific. She pulled it out, along with two other items and set them on the chabudai.

“I have a little project for you to do young man...” She said, settling on her knees at the low table. The boy joined her seeing a stack of paper cut in squares, a spool of twine and a fat bone needle. Nanashi could see what she up to, smiled and heaved a sigh, letting his eyes drift closed. He felt genuinely awful and a bit relieved to be left alone.

Hira quickly pulled loose a length of the twine, using her teeth to cut it, then knotted it and threaded the needle. Setting it aside, she indicated Kotaro to sit beside her and took up one of the sheets of paper.

“There is an old, old story that says...” she began speaking, folding the paper. “That if one can make a thousand paper cranes, a wish would be granted to them.” Deftly she folded, unfolded, then refolded the paper until she produced a paper crane. She held it up and smiled at Kotaro, who was watching her avidly. She then threaded the bird onto the twine.

“Now, pick up a sheet and follow me...” She picked up another piece of paper and within a few minutes had him making his own cranes. She let him thread the birds onto the twine. “Remember now, for a thousand cranes a wish will be granted, all right?”

“All right!” The boy proclaimed and eagerly began to make his own birds. Hira smiled at him, then shifted over to Nanashi.

His eyes fluttered open when she laid the backs of her fingers against his forehead.

“He's a greedy little thing...” he warned in an undertone, “Don't be surprised if he makes two thousand of them. And you might rue what he wishes for.”

“Let him be...” Hira smiled. “You're only a child once and it seems to me he hasn't really had a chance to be one. Besides. I need to get some sleep.”

Nanashi looked at her, as she made sure he was still clutching the pillow and was warm enough. He slowly shook his head, seeing the weariness on her features. “Of course, “ he murmured, “You haven't slept yet.”

She smiled slightly, glancing at Kotaro. “This will keep him plenty busy until he gets tired. As for you, you need more sleep than I do, but I have been up nearly two days now.”

“My apologies, Hira...” he said.

“Nonsense. I'm only doing what I have been trained to do and I do it well.”

“Won't argue with you there.”

“I've made sure the fire will be good for the night. There's plenty of water in the pot. Just don't you get it.” She said, reaching up and setting her hands on either side of his left arm. Using just her thumbs she slowly, gently, followed pressure points down his bicep, using the shiatsu training to massage the weaker of his arms. “I'll leave the tea and the cup close, so you won't have to wake up the boy, but if you need anything else? Or if something doesn't feel right. You have him come get me. I'm a light sleeper.”

“Don't tell me you sleep in that cave he's been talking about...” Nanashi sighed relief at what her thumbs were doing for him arm. 

“Oh no!” She smiled at him. “My room is behind the shoji there.” She nodded at the panel next to the maple fusuma. “I'm very close. I will probably hear you before anything happens.”

“Some day, you've got to tell me how you became a healer to the bushi class...” He murmured as she worked the shiatsu past his elbow and down his forearm. “Then walked away from it.”

“Hmmm...” she replied, non-committally. “Although I haven't really walked away from it now have I?” She said as she gently gripped his hand in both of hers. She worked her thumbs, applying steady pressure and studying how very long his fingers were. 

“True...” he murmured. “And if you keep this up I'm going to go right back out again.”

Hira smirked, reaching over and lifting his more injured right arm. He hissed as she moved it.

“That's the whole intent...” she said, carefully working around the wound in his shoulder. “And don't be such a baby.”

Nanashi huffed slightly in amusement. “If you knew what it took to get him out of the mess the Ming created, you'd understand why I'm so damned sore.”

“Perhaps,” Hira said working down his upper arm. “We can trade stories...”

He cracked his eyes open slightly, studying her face. She looked completely at peace, gently applying the shiatsu massage to his arm. His other arm was utterly relaxed, and warm. Her ministration went far in lulling him into a state of deep drowsiness. Their gazes met...

“Perhaps...” he murmured. 

Hira only smiled, finishing off on his right hand. She set it along side his other and rose to her feet.

“Kotaro...” she said to the boy. “I'm leaving you in charge.”

Below her, she heard Nanashi huff and mutter, “You'll be sorry...”

Kotaro looked at her surprised, in mid fold of another crane. “What...?”

“I need some sleep. I will be in there,” she pointed at the shoji. “He...” she pointed at Nanashi. “Is not to get up, for anything, I'm counting on you to make sure he stays put.” Hira hid the smirk that threatened at the groan of dismay from the floor.

“If he should need any water, can you get it for him?”

“Sure!” The boy agreed.

“Good! If something should happen, just come and get me.” Hira said, looking down at Nanashi with amusement then she headed for the shoji. “Help yourself to the food in there, Kotaro.”

“Thanks!” the boy replied, looking back at his current paper crane then at the firepit.

“Unbelievable...” Nanashi said, looking over at the boy. “You've never thanked me for anything!”

Stepping into her room, Hira slid the shoji back into place and turned, heaving a sigh. Her smile vanished. Like the rest of the house, the bedroom was as austere, and clean as the rest. To her right was her own shikibuton and comforter. The wall opposite her had two tokonomas, specifically elevated sections of the room, one slightly higher than the other. The higher section had a kamidana set up on it. The little Shinto shrine held a few small items about it, a single almost spent candle, and the last of a stick of incense slowly smouldering away. 

A long strand of white paper cranes were draped around the little shrine.

Pushing away from the shoji, Hira tugged her hair tie out, her hair flowing in a black curtain around her shoulders. She moved to the shrine and dropped to her knees on the zabuton laying before it. She lowered her forehead to the floor, prostrate, her hands up in supplication. She remained that way for several minutes before eventually sitting back on her haunches and gazing at the kamadana. Her eyes travelled past it and up to an ornate black bracket attached to the wall. 

Set upon the brackets were three swords. The smallest, a tanto, on the bottom, followed by a wakizashi, then the longest, a katana, on top. All three were set with the curve of the swords facing up, to protect the razor sharp edges, even in their sheaths.

Hira gazed at them for a long time. Her shoulders slumped, head dropping, black hair spilling all around. Her face reflected a world of sorrow, grief and deep unhappiness.


	6. Chapter 6

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The Healer

  


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## 

6.

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Before fully registering the sound of an oddly muffled thump, Hira had sat up. Groggily, she reached over for her grey hantan, pulling it over her under robes and had it cinched around her waist by the time she reached the shoji. 

Sliding it back, she automatically looked to the right, letting her sight adjust to the warm, red glow of the irori fire. On its opposite side, Kotaro slept, oblivious to the world, buried under the kakebuton with Tobimaru. He had left a small pile of paper cranes on the low table. 

She looked towards Nanashi. 

On his back, he had one knee partially lifted up. His foot hitting the floor had awakened her. She could see him drag his left hand along the zabuton on his chest. He twitched, his head jerking away from the fire. His leg relaxed, angled somewhat awkwardly to the right. At some point he had shoved his own kakebuton down to his waist.

In seconds she knelt at his side. He was not awake. She could barely see his eyes shifting under the closed lids as he rolled his head back, a soft gasp escaping from his lips. His chest heaved as he sucked back in a breath of air. In the glint of the firelight she saw the sweat beading on his forehead. She reached over, grasped the nearby cloth and soaked it, before she clenched it tight to squeeze the excess water out. Gently she started to dab at his face, expecting the normal sigh of relief and relaxation, hoping he wouldn't even wake up.

What she got was wholly unexpected.

The second the cool damp cloth touched his face, Nanashi literally sat bolt upright. A half strangled outburst of horror escaped from him, followed closing by a loud groan of pain. His hair fell over his face in utter disarray. Breathing in hard fast gasps, he dragged his legs up, while his right hand slapped onto the floor, trying to support him. His other hand...

His other hand had clamped around Hira's forearm, his fingers wrapped in a painfully tight vice grip as his thumb dug hard into the flesh. He never heard her sharp intake of pain as she pulled back to stare back at him in astonishment. 

“Nanashi!” she barely gasped, freezing in place. Her back arced from the pain as her heart raced, almost as fast as his. She stared at his face. White as a sheet, he was staring past her, his eyes beginning to flutter shut in pained agony and she could see he wasn't even awake. She didn't dare try and rouse him, there simply being no way to tell how he'd react.

“Nanashi?” She hissed softly.

“Nnng....” he moaned, his head dropping, almost coming to rest on her shoulder. A frown appeared on his face, as he tried to shift forward, attempting to sit up better. He reached up with his free hand, touched his cheek lightly, and his eyes blinked back open.

“Nanashi?” Hira whispered, through gritted teeth, trying to remain motionless. 

His breathing began to even out, and he jerked his head up, irritated with the hair falling into his eyes. He started to pull her arm towards him, his thumb still biting hard into the flesh. 

An intake of sharp breath not his own finally caused him to frown. His eyes fluttered open. Realization slowly began to dawn on his face as he focused, and glanced at his hand. He felt Hira trembling. His gaze lifted to her face, his fingers still locked in their grip.

“Are you awake?” she whispered softly, her eyes studying his.

“Hira..? I..? What..?” he began to stammer. 

“Relax your fingers...” she whispered, pleadingly. 

He stared at her arm. His grip was so tight, he could see the deep imprints of his fingers even from the soft glow of the irori. There was a slow rolling, trickle of blood running down her bare arm where his thumbnail had embedded itself into the flesh. He began to shake. “I.. I?” he stammered again. “My katana?”

Hira could see the war going on behind his confused, perplexed gaze. The vestiges of a nightmare still gripped him as did the realization of what he had done. He became more aware of his surrounding. 

She lifted her own shaking fingers up to his face. Setting her hand on his cheek she turned him to focus on her. “You were dreaming, Nanashi. You thought my arm was your katana. Relax your grip...”

He stared at her, comprehension finally winning through. “Hira? I...? I'm sorry,” he whispered in horror. “I'm so sorry!” He pulled his hand away abruptly, staring as a thin trail of blood rolled down her arm. 

She sagged in relief, her shoulders dropping. She set her other hand on his shoulder.

“Hush, Nanashi, hush...” she murmured, studying his eyes, a worried frown on her face. “It was my fault. I didn't realize you were having a nightmare.”

He dropped his head, reaching up to pull her hand away from his cheek. “I...” he started to say then shook his head, sighing in deep weariness. “They just happen...” he said helplessly, squeezing her fingers, “I never know when... I'm sorry, Hira, I didn't meant to hurt you!” He looked at his hand, loathing in his eyes.

Very quietly she replied, “Your fever is up and your resistance is down. That is probably why you're dreaming. Lay back down. You're shaking so hard you're going to collapse.” On impulse she reached up, brushing the hair off his face, before she settled both hands on his shoulders. “Come on,” she coaxed. “Lay back down.”

He didn't argue, he just laid back, with a groan of pain and a heavy sigh. He already felt wretched enough, now he just felt worse. He looked away from her. “How can you even look at me?” He asked.

She smiled gently. “I have dealt with patient's who have done far worse than this. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” She reached for the cloth, dabbing again at his face and neck.

He went to go open his mouth to argue, reaching up to pull her hand away but she just looked sharply at him.

“Don't...” she said firmly. “This is my job. Part of healing is to provide comfort...” She continued cooling his forehead and temples.

Twisting slightly she pulled the kakebuton back up to his neck, “So is listening. Do you wish to talk about it?” She tentatively asked. 

The look he gave her was answer enough. Forbidding her to ask him again but utterly unable to hide the pain the nightmare had dredged up. She just lifted her chin in understanding

Wetting the cloth again, she squeezed the water out. The trickling sounding loud in the room. She cast a glance at where Kotaro slept. He was oblivious. Continuing to bathe the sweat off Nanashi's face she said. “If you ever decide to discuss it, I'm a very good listener.”

“Is that part of your job too?” he muttered.

“Of course. But the decision is purely up to you. When a patient is in distress, I heal, I comfort, I listen.”

He looked at her, as she shifted the cloth to dab at his neck. “Answer me a question?” he asked.

She looked at him frankly, then nodded.

“He was a shogun wasn't he..? Your husband.” Nanashi asked.

Hira froze. Only the sound of the fire could be heard in the washitsu for a very long pause as Hira's hand stopped in its ministration. They stared at each other, then Hira drew in a breath, pulling her hand away.

“And that boy thinks you're illiterate...” she said softly, ruefully, a ghost of a smirk on her lips. “You are far, far smarter than you appear.”

“You're a widow, aren't you?” Nanashi asked.

Hira slowly lifted her chin, sitting back on her haunches. She finally broke their gaze, glancing down at her arm. Using the cloth she wiped the blood off. She inspected the bruising. She said nothing.

“You don't just live out here to be away from the villagers. They've banished you, haven't they?” He asked.

After a pause Hira drew in a deep breath. “More fools they,” she whispered, clutching the cloth in her hand. “This is my home though. I prefer to live here rather than deal with their...” She hesitated, carefully selecting her words. “Nonsense.”

To her surprise, a look of understanding flickered in his eyes as she looked back at him.

“I know how it is with women of rank. You weren't given a choice were you?” he asked.

“I _made_ me a choice...” She corrected, a hint of fierceness in her words. “What choice is there between seppuku or becoming the concubine of your husband's, unbalanced, shogun brother? Why destroy years worth of training over a point that is as ridiculous as it is insane? Just because someone dies? Is it really honourable to blindly follow someone in pointless death? My husband understood that... We even discussed it before he died. He made me vow I would not waste my skills. He wanted me to live. I chose to honour his last wishes.”

For just a split second, Nanashi saw the grief; deep, intense, and unmistakable, that lurked behind her dark eyes. It vanished behind a steely resolve. “Even if I have to honour those last wishes alone.”

To Hira's surprise, he huffed softly in amusement, a slight smile appearing on his lips. “I have learned -in my own way- that there is absolutely no honour in blind loyalty. It often ends up in creating much more dishonour than anything else.”

For a moment nothing could be heard in the room but the low crackling of the fire. Hira lowered her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “I knew you weren't a typical ronin.”

“And you are not a typical healer,” he replied. 

Hira drew in a breath, relaxing her shoulders. “No, I suppose I am not.” She set the cloth aside, folding her hands on her lap and looked at Nanashi. “I was trained by my grandfather. He was a samurai and a healer. I was... five?” She looked down at her hands a moment, then glanced back up. “Our family was very influential. My father and uncles were all healers or metalsmiths. All of them samurai.”

“My father was a retainer to the daimyo of the Achikita realm and an arranged marriage was made between my family and the daimyo's for his younger son. An unusual situation as we bypassed the elder one. Both his sons were shoguns for separate districts under the daimyo's fiefdom. A stipulation of the betrothal was the request for me to remain in the younger shogun's district.” 

“I take it the daimyo's older son, his heir, wasn't happy with the arrangements?” Nanashi asked.

Hira nodded. “He was not. But he was over-ruled. I was married at thirteen and had to learn the management of the household very quickly. I still tutored under my grandfather and the daimyo's healer to further my education. Surprisingly, despite my age and, how shall I say it? Inexperience?My husband loved me. He was patient, and kind. He showed me how important it was to treat people, regardless of class, with respect.”

“A wise man...” Nanashi murmured. 

Hira nodded. “The wisest...” She said, her eyes reflecting grief. “Our district's people loved him. The daimyo's healer and myself did everything we could to save his life. In the end, infection -an abscess in his abdomen from a sword wound- took him.” Hira heaved a soft sigh, glancing away from Nanashi's gaze. “I suddenly found myself a widow in my husband's family home. It was implied I either follow my husband or submit to his brother, under the pretext of raising up a child in his name. I chose something else.”

“There were no children?” 

“Not for lack of trying,” Hira said, a slight smile on her lips. “One of us was infertile. We never did find out which one.”

“So you returned to what was rightfully yours and accepted disgrace and banishment.”

“I took my husbands words to heart,” Hira said. “And I was not going to submit to that sadistic brother. His wife and concubines can't seem to produce a boy. Even if I was not infertile, I certainly wasn't going to become another broodmare in his stall.” Her voice subtly dripped with sarcasm.

The acrimony in her brought a slight smirk to Nanashi's lips. “What choice is there between ritual suicide or conjugal servitude?” he murmured.

Hira inclined her head, sighing softly. “Most of the villagers side with the old daimyo and, by loyalty, the remaining brother. Whether they like him or not. The ones who do not, are the ones who refer people to me. They trade and barter with me as well. It's been a few years now. I get by. I've come to accept my solitude.”

“What about the rest of your family?” he asked.

“I explained that to Kotaro. Did you see those burned out ruins on the ride up here?”

“I wasn't in much of a state to notice.” Nanashi said ruefully. 

“They were my family's ancestral homes. They were wiped out in the last civil war in this region. I was with my husband by then and was not here to see their demise.” She let out a sigh. “The cemetery is their final home, it's been ours for generations.”

Nanashi gazed at her for several minutes. “I'm truly sorry, Hira,” he said. “It seems our world has gone mad. All three of us have such burdens to bear.”

“Yes,” she replied. “We carry on, however.” She glanced around the room. “I'm comfortable here. I took to household management like I did to healing. I don't think I've done too bad.” She looked back at him. “And once certain villagers realized what kind of healer was in their midst, they found ways to bend the social rules to our mutual benefit.”

“Isn't there some sort of pressure from the daimyo's elder son?” Nanashi automatically asked.

“Oh some,” she replied offhandedly. “He tries throwing his weight around. The peasant folk who want me around know a thing or two about working around rules and etiquette to get what they want though. Even at the expense of one's superior in class.”

“But as a shogan's widow...” he started to say, but Hira suddenly laid the fingertips of one hand impulsively on his lips, stopping him. She abruptly snatched ed her hand away.

“That is the burden I had to accept.” She whispered fiercely. “My fate was sealed when I was wed to a shogun. What difference does it make now in my disgrace? I refused seppuku and rejected my daimyo's orders to become the plaything of his remaining son. After that, who would even want such a woman?”

He knew the traditions and laws. Should the wives of shogan's, or those higher up, refuse the orders of the daimyo's they served, they were condemned to never remarry.

Nanashi studied her calm, almost indifferent composure. Increasingly, over the last few decades, as district fought against district, the movements and activities of educated, middle to upper class, woman became more and more restricted. He swallowed, glancing away, tasting bile in his throat. Samurai were held to very strict codes of honour, but women? Their standards was raised to near unbearable levels. 

Nanashi sighed. “Many would say the same about a samurai who rejects his daimyo's wishes.” He murmured, turning his head to look back her. “What some consider to be a great and noble honour is nothing more than senseless destruction. Acts that are unconscionable and appalling and should be rejected out of decency's sake. A samurai faced with that and turning away, laying aside his oaths of loyalty and choosing to walk away from the so called honour and prestige, is considered nothing more that a dog.”

For a moment neither spoke, but then Hira sighed, smiling softly. “It's easier isn't it? Not having to deal with the pressure?”

Wearily, Nanashi closed his eyes, nodding his head in agreement. “I've always been restless, I find I don't mind travelling. I'm free, more or less, to go where I want. Make my own decisions.”

“Yes, there is a peace in that too, isn't there?” she asked wistfully. She drew in a breath of air and exhaled slowly, setting her hands on her thighs. 

“There is, so long as I'm left to mind my own business. That one...” he nodded at Kotaro. “Hasn't learned that yet. He will eventually.”

Hira looked over at the mound of comforter. “He's just a boy...” she said softly. 

“Full of piss and vinegar and a lot of ego to boot,” Nanashi murmured, closing his eyes wearily. “Thinks he knows everything too!”

“Don't tell me you weren't like that at his age,” Hira smiled wryly. “He's got much to be afraid of. It all comes out as bluster and bad manners.”

“You're letting him off easy,” Nanashi replied, a slight smirk ghosting his lips.

“Why rob him of his innocence? He has to grow up much too fast. He should be allowed to be a child for what time he can be one.”

Nanashi opened his eyes and studied her in the firelight. “True...” he said quietly.

Hira sighed and turned her focus back on him. “Do you need anything to help you go back to sleep?” She asked.

He shook his head, reaching for the zabuton to hold against his chest. He glanced at her.

“Are you feeling any pain, anywhere other than the wound sites?” She laid her hand on her abdomen. “Especially here, or in your chest?” She reached over to the water pot, filling the cup and setting it nearby for him to reach.

“Just the pressure, and the ribs.” He murmured, letting his eyes close. “And feeling like a wrung out rag.”

“You really need some proper sleep,” She said, as she slowly got to her feet. “And so do I. Still, don't hesitate to call for me if you need anything.”

“Just...” He murmured, glancing at her bruised arm. “Just accept my apologies, Hira.”

“You've nothing to apologize for,” she said gently and went back to her room. 

Neither one of them dropped off to sleep until far, far later into the night.


	7. Chapter 7

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The Healer

  


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## 

7.

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By the time the sun rose the next day, lethargy and apathy had firmly settled upon Nanashi. Not to mention a dose of guilt from his previous night's actions. The fever, stubbornly refusing to budge, left him depleted. He mostly wanted nothing more to do than just sleep. 

Hira, avoiding the use of poppy, settled on making him a custom blend of herbal tea to help him get some rest. That and trying to coax different broths into him to keep him sustained. The fever's effects, mostly chills and the occasional sweat, made Hira keep a sharp eye on him, not wanting him to get dehydrated. Every chance she could, she not only got him to drink tea or broth, she got water into his system.

Kotaro was left pretty much to his own devices. Not hard for a boy to find things to do, especially after the brief snow had melted off, leaving the grounds around Hira's home open to roam through. He also took it upon himself to take the ducks to the pond, ride the horse, and play with Tobimaru.

After she had made supper that evening Hira went into the storage room and came out with three of the bamboo tubes she had brought in the first night they had arrived. They and a small leather pouch.

Kotaro sat on his shikibuton, folding paper cranes and adding them to his string. He chattered away to her or the dog, she wasn't sure which, about how he was going to wish for the most amazing thing ever when he reached a thousand cranes. 

She set the tubes next to the chabudai, then went to the pine tree covered fusuma, sliding it back and retrieving several blocks of wood. She set the blocks on the table, checked that all was well with the irori, then focused some attention on Nanashi.

He slept, if just, a restless sleep. Something that continued to cause her some concern. Restless was never restful. His chest still pained him, not surprising with broken ribs. They often were the most painful of breaks to heal. 

With a sigh, she settled herself on the floor facing the table and irori. She pulled the broken katana out from where it lay wrapped in its bundle under the chabudai. Laying the wrapping across the larger of the wooden blocks, she inspected the broken sword, examining the blade, and the tsuba then concentrated her attention on the tsuka handle.

“What are you doing?” Kotaro's voice suddenly sounded to her left, a note of alarm in his voice.

Hira glanced at him, he seemed torn between curiosity and alarm.

“Here,” she said shifting to her right. “Have a seat and you can watch.”

“But what are you going to do it it?” He protested. 

“Take it apart and see what can be repaired.” She replied, setting the broken blade down flat on the rag covered block making sure the sharp edge was away from them both.

“But you said it was all broken!” He shot back. “You said it was dead.”

“Yes, and I want to see what can be salvaged to replace it. Wouldn't you want him to have a sword that can be used?” She looked at the boy frankly, setting the sword so that the hand guard was flush against the block.

The boy looked at her, “Well, yes, but...”

“No buts. If he's to have a katana it needs to be replaced, depending on the damage. So,” she patted the space next to her. “Sit and we can see what needs to be done.”

Looking suspicious and uncertain, he reluctantly sat down, looking at the katana worriedly.

“Let me explain a little about what we have here.” Hira said. “Obviously the blade is ruined, so we need to take it out of the tsuka.” She pointed at a noticeable dot just visible between the wrappings of the burgundy silk of the hilt. “This is called the mekugi. It's a bamboo pin that holds the tang of the sword inside the ho, the wooden handle. You see?” she asked.

Kotaro leaned forward. “That's all that holding it on there?”

“In a matter of speaking, but there are a few other forces involved. So hand me that little sack there.” She nodded at the pouch. “And I will show you what that is...”

Kotaro pushed it over and Hira took out a blunt ended metal pin and a small, leather bound, wooden, hammer. She knelt over the handle. Positioning the metal pin on one side of the mekugi she rapped it firmly with the hammer. Nothing happened as she flipped the tsuka over, examined the other side and flipped it back. Another rap of the hammer and she flipped the handle over again. Sticking out from the exit hole was the bamboo pin. She pinched hold of it and tugged the somewhat unyeilding pin out of the handle.

“All right,” she said, setting the mekugi aside. “That was a bit stiff, probably from the blows of the last battle this was used in. Let's see if the blade will slide out.” She picked the katana up, wedging her thumb against the hand guard and gripping the blade from the back.

“These blades aren't just flat pieces of sharp metal. They have several different facets and widths.” she explained. “Where you see my hand, on the blade, that is the bottom or the back, the mune. It is always convex. Like a shallow bowl. In a sword fight, a samurai can actually place his hand here and wield the weapon without cutting off his fingers. The edge is called the ha. It is always concave, meaning the edge bows out.

With a properly made katana, you can actually put your finger under the habaki or the fuchi and balance the blade perfectly on one finger.”

She picked the katana up and showed the boy where it could be balanced, only in their case, with the blade being broken, the tsuka just weighed it down. “This here is the habaki, the sword collar.” She pointed out a brass sleeve on the blade itself. “I should be able to grasp the blade here.” She gripped it from the mune side and tried to wriggle the tang from the handle. 

It wouldn't budge.

“So, in this case, we use that long block of wood with the notch in it. Can you hand it to me?” she asked.

Kotaro, fascinated now, picked it up and handed it to her. 

Shifting the long piece of wood up, she settled the wooden notch against the habaki collar. The groove in the block holding the blade out at an angle. The block of wood at the groove lay flat and flush against the tsuba hand guard.

“We don't want to break or damage anything else on the katana so we use this piece of wood to free a stuck blade from the tsuka.” Hira explained. She turned the blade and block, picked up the hammer and struck the wood hard on the end not against the tsuba. There was distinct wooden thump and a metallic ring which made Hira smile.

“That ought to do it,” She said, setting the hammer down and loosening the block off the blade. Reaching down she gripped the back of the blade above the habaki and tugged. 

There was a little resistance, but then, the blade pulled free from the tsuka. Almost instantly an ovate metal ring fell to the table as Hira set the tsuka down.

“Whoa...” Kotaro breathed in awe. 

The blade looked very strange now, freed from the handle. The tang curved slightly, ending in a rounded point. The mekugi hole quite noticeable now merely an inch or so from the end of the tang. Hira smiled at the boy and gripped the habaki collar, tugging firmly to get it to release from the blade. As she set it aside, Kotaro could see two distinct notches on the blade where the collar had been.

“And that is the blade.” She said. She examined the tang a moment. “See here...” she pointed to where faintly inscribed characters could just be made out above the tang hole. “That is the inscription of the original blade maker, his signature. This portion of the blade is the nakago, the tang, it is what is secured in the ho.”

“Who made it?” Kotaro asked and she read off the name. 

“They sometimes have engraving here.” She said pointing out an area towards the mune. “This one does not. Okay, so, what is this called again, the back of the sword?”

“The mune.” Kotaro responded promptly.

“And here... the top or the edge?”

“The ha.” He replied.

“And here?” She pointed to the tang.

“The nakago.”

She smiled approvingly then pointed to the two notches. “These are the machi. And since a blade is never just a flat piece of metal these notches have names. So what do you think this notch on the bottom would be called?”

Kotaro looked uneasily at her, then looked down at the blade. The blade wasn't just two dimensional, he reminded himself. “Ummm, the mune machi?”

“Eh! You 're catching on, so what is this one called?” She pointed to the other notch.

“Ha machi!”

“Very good! Now hand me that bamboo tube there, the middle one, and pull the top off it,” she said.

He willingly obliged, pulling the top off with a 'pop'. Looking inside he could several other blades in it.

“These are broken blades from other swords I have repaired in the past. I take them into the village with me and barter for things with the metal smiths in order to repair katanas that are sometimes brought to me.”

“You fix katana's as well?” Kotaro asked. “How'd you learn that?”

“I told you, boy, besides healers there were metal smiths in my family. My sisters, cousins and I all learned how to assemble the swords for the district's samurai. Besides, the katana has a spirit. And I am a healer. So I heal the katana's as well.”

“You're trying to heal Nanashi's katana?”

“Well in his case, Kotaro, the katana is dead. However, I can assemble one that will be just as good as his, with as many parts from his katana that I can salvage.” She winked at him. “And I can show you how to do it so that you can help him maintain his sword in the future.”

Clearing a space on the table, she set the habaki collar to the left with the ovate washer next to it. While Kotaro watched, she gripped the tsuba and wriggled it off the blade, followed by another washer. She then slid the broken blade into the tube, handing it back to the boy.

“Remember, this is the habaki. It fits up against those two notches on the blade and marks the beginning of where the blade gets sharpened. It also stabilises the tsuba. Then we have a seppa followed by the tsuba and another seppa. Lastly, we have the fuchi. The handle's collar. This collar is more rounded to fit the wooden handle.” 

She gripped the fuchi tightly and began wriggling it off the handle. It proved difficult. After a bit of concerted effort, she finally managed to pull the stubborn collar off. She set it next to the seppa, setting the rest of the tsuka aside. Then she picked up the round tsuba and turned it to show to Kotaro. 

“You see that there, that line?”

“Yeah...” Kotaro peered over her hand.

Gripping the brass piece between both hand she pushed / pulled in opposing directions. “See the split? The tsuba is broken. That can prove fatal in another sword fight if it should shatter completely.” She released her grip and held it out to the boy. “I usually add these to my scrap metal for the smith's in town, but somehow, I think maybe you should have it.”

Kotaro looked at her a moment, then took the tsuba from her, gazing at it and the crack in its edge. “Thanks...” he murmured. 

Hira just smiled. “So... what are each of these pieces called?” She asked him and he promptly recited back to her what each piece was. She reached over and picked up the tsuka again. She tapped the bottom.

“There is a cap here. The kashira. It's the end cap. It not only fits tightly to the end of the ho, but it is also tied in place by the ito, the silk wrap that makes up the tsuka's grip. I would dearly like to save the ito for you, but because it is cut to fit this particular ho, I won't be able to. Maybe I can use some of it to make the knot for the sheath later. I have a very similar colour of burgundy though, maybe a bit darker than what is on here. It should do nicely. So to get this cap off the end, I need to untie the ito and remove it. Can you hand me that little bag of of tools again?” She asked.

Obediently he passed it over. Hira pulled out a slim metal dowel that tapered to a conical point on one end then an oddly angled thick metal wire with a hook and an abalone handle.

“Let's see where the person who wrapped this handle ended their work.” Hira mused and picked up the dowel. She poked and prodded around the knot on one side of the handle, then flipped it over and prodded until a part of the ito gave way. “Ah!” She exclaimed and wriggled the dowel under the knot until a cut end of the silk popped free. She switched out tools for the abalone hook and began to wriggle the hook in and out of knots, pulling the ito this way and that, slowly teasing the silk cord loose. It finally came free from the hole on one side of the kashira.

“Hira?” Kotaro suddenly asked. His voice sounding a little timid. She glanced at him as she flipped the tsuka over and began to wriggle the hook around the knot on the other side of it. He was toying with the old tsuba, looking nervous. “He's really sick isn't he?” 

Hira paused in her work and sat back, gazing at the boy.

“He is sick, yes, and uncomfortable,” she said. “However, his wounds are not seeping any more blood and fluid. Plus they aren't feverish themselves. Wounds can develop fevers. Warm spots on the flesh that can indicate infection. Nanashi's haven't done that and that is a very good thing.”

“The alcohol I had to pour into the wounds, plus the herbal tincture, cleaned the wounds out of any bad things and they promote healing. As did the balm I made that you helped put on all his wounds and cuts.”

“What is of concern is his ribs. Whatever he hit, or fell through, or had fallen on him, broke four -possibly five- ribs. That is a far worse thing than that bad stab wound. He's feeling a lot of pain on that side of his body, which means that there could be fluid around his lung.” 

“The danger is that build up of fluid. Which he feels as pressure on his chest. That can lead to pneumonia. Where even more fluid builds up and further weakens him. That makes it hard for him to breath. That kind of infection is what could kill him. I don't want that to happen so I have him hold that zabuton to his chest and have him breath from lower dantian. Do you know what dantian is?”

The boy shook his head.

Hira just smiled at him. “Well, if you are going to eventually learn how to use a katana, you need to learn dantian.”

“What is it?” Kotaro asked, looking up at her.

“Dantian is a way of breathing. It helps the flow of energy in your body, your chi. There are three types of breathing. Upper,” Hira tapped her forehead, then laid a hand across her bosom. “Middle, then lower.” She dropped her hand below her belly.

“When we're going about our daily business we always breath naturally from middle dantian. When we meditate, or when we are doing our forms and exercises to master a martial art, we breath from lower dantian. Breathing from this area builds up strength in the body. It allows the chi to move freely and helps in healing.”

“But because Nanashi is having pain and some difficulty breathing from there, he needs that zabuton to hold against his ribs and chest to allow him to draw breath from lower down. It eases the pain.”

She gazed at the boy. “Do you understand?”

He nodded. 

Hira smiled, “He's strong and healthy, Kotaro, if a bit underfed. He can fight this off. Between the two of us, we'll get him back on his feet.”

The boy said nothing, but she could see the worry and fear behind his dark eyes. 

“Let's keep working on this, shall we?” She picked up the tsuka. She had finished prising the ito from the other knot and with her strong fingers, she wriggled the kashira off the end. Handing it to Kotaro she then began to swiftly unwind the silk from off the handle.

“Do you know what this is?” She asked, as she slowly exposed what lay under the wrapping.

Kotaro gazed over her hand, seeing a strange bumpy 'skin' that wrapped around the ho. Many tiny raised circles covered it and he could tell it was some sort of hide. 

“You can feel it, if you want. This is the samegawa, or just the same*, its a ray's skin. It's a very important part of the tsuka because of the grip it can provide. This is a standard same. You can tell by the colour. Most same's are greyish or tan. If you bleach them, they turn white and can be dyed different colours. Usually those same's are for ornamental weapons. A standard sword general uses just the grey or tan, the natural colour of the ray.”

Kotaro ran his finger along the bumpy surface. “Ray? Like from the sea?”

“Yes. This particular skin,” Hira finished unwrapping the ito and nudged the burgundy silk aside. “This is from the very center of the ray's back, and I can tell that by these here.” 

She pointed out several larger bumps forming a slightly irregular line on the ho. “Like the blade not being two dimensional, the ho and tsuka are the same. These larger bumps are situated on the right side of the ho. You can see where the right hand menuki sat at one point in time near the tsuba. That fit directly under the right palm. On the left,” 

Hira turned the handle to show -near the end of the tsuka- where there was a similar discolouration on the same. “This is where the left side menuki sat for the left palm.”

She turned the ho to expose the wood on the end of the handle. “Remember how I said that the tsuka was damaged as well?” She asked.

The boy nodded. 

She pointed to a crack in the wood. “The wood is split there, from whatever force hit it. Which means that the ho needs to be replaced. But, we need to get this same off somehow. It's a straightforward wrap, which is standard with most katana's. It's glued into place using rice. So, that means we need to steam it for a while before we can go any further.”

“Steam it?” Kotaro asked.

“Yes, to try and loosen that glue. I don't have any same skin at this point in time. So I need to try and salvage this one. It should be fairly simple, however...” she sighed and glanced at him with a rueful smile. “It's going to take a bit of time. So, how would you like to take a bath?”

“A bath?” He asked looking up at her. 

“In a ofuro.” She raised a quizzical eyebrow at him. 

He frowned, “Where do you have an ofuro?”

“Behind those shoji screens at the back of the cave...” Hira, nudged the chabudai forward, and got to her feet. “C'mon, you can help me fill it and take a warm bath. Let me get your robe and some towels.”

To his astonishment, Kotaro soon stared at a large shallow wooden tub that was hid from view by the shoji's in the cave. 

Hira, pulling a stick of burning wood from the cave's irori, lit several candles and nodded her head towards the back of the cave. 

“The little stream that runs through the property, has a source of water higher up the mountain, but there is also a spring in here that feeds it as well.” Hira said, leading him past the ofuro and over to where a small gate was set in the floor of the cave. Beyond it, Kotaro could just see and hear water bubbling up out of the ground and seeping off into gravelly rocks to the left of the cave. Several wooden buckets sat stacked nearby.

“That is my source of water.” She opened the little gate, and beckoned him closer. “Take the buckets and fill them up and we'll fill the ofuro. We'll get hot water from the irori in here and warm up the water. Then you can have a bath.”

Kotaro wasn't about to say no to that. 

She left him to enjoy himself, leaving towels nearby. She told him that when he was done, how to drain the water from the ofuro and to leave his clothes by the large pot to be washed.

Keeping him preoccupied, she returned to the washitsu, changing out his bed, then setting up the same wrapped ho over a pot of water steaming in the irori. 

Eventually, she settled on her knees besides Nanashi, applying the damp cloth to his face, checking the state of his fever. A notch of worry etched between her brows. His hair, seeming to have a mind of its own, had fallen across his face again. She smoothed it back, studying his scarred features a moment before noting again, the mahogany coloured hair just barely noticeable at the root line.

He heaved a sigh, turning his head towards her and opened his eyes long enough to acknowledge her presence, before shutting them again. 

He was too weary to even talk.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I just want to let readers know that there may be an extended pause between chapters. On May 16th 2018, I lost my mother to dementia. I have had a tremendous load of responsibility thrust upon my shoulders and some horrific stress. There is unimaginable things that must be done and most days leave me exhausted. Lets not forget the heartache and sorrow. I am taking folks advice, I need time to grieve.

##  ****

The Healer

  


****

## 

8.

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It took some time for the ray-skin on the old tsuka to loosen from the wooden handle. When it did, Hira was able to show Kotaro just how the handle to Nanashi's katana had broken. She transferred the samegawa to a half dowel piece to re-stretch it, and showed the boy where the split in the wood was. 

“So how do you fix that?” Kotaro asked that night as they settled by the table.

“This? It is nothing more than kindling now,” she said holding the two pieces of handle that made up the ho. The 'inside' showed where the tang had been custom fit for the blade. “So, if you hand me that tube under the table we'll make a new handle.”

Passing her a weighty tube, she pulled the lid off/ She shook out several bundles of wood, each neatly tied together, and of varying lengths. They were partially made already, having the necessary notches and holes to fit caps, pins and silk for the final manufacturing of the handles.

“A samurai's tsuka is custom made for them to handle properly,” Hira said. “They are measured from their wrist to their elbow of their dominant hand. So,” she picked up a half of Nanashi's old handle and set it up against a few of the wood bundles until a near perfect match was made. “We'll use this one to make the new katana.” She smiled at the boy, setting the old handle aside. “Here,” she handed him the new ho. “Untie this while I put these away and get out a new blade.”

Kotaro grinned, tackling the leather thongs used to tie the dual pieces of ho together while Hira slide the remaining bundles back into their tube. Setting it aside, she pulled out the longest tube she had gotten out and pulled the lid off. There were four long bundles of cloth inside and she pulled one out, setting it on the chabudai before putting the lid back on the tube and joining it with the other one.

“Don't they custom make the blade too?” Kotaro asked as he finished untying the two pieces of the ho.

“In a way, yes,” Hira said. “All katanas are generally the same length, between 24 and 31 inches long. That goes for the wakizashi as well. Those are 12 to 20 inches or so. The tanto's are even smaller and are really considered to be daggers rather than swords.” Hira said as she untied the bundle of clothe she had laid on the table.

“What do you mean by wakizashi's and tanto's?” Kotaro asked.

Hira glanced at him, a wry smile on her lips. “Well, in most battles, samurai's carried two swords and a dagger. The katana being the longest.”

“You mean they fought with two swords?” Kotaro asked in awe as Hira carefully unfolded the cloth from around the long blade it protected. A light of fire seemed to gleam from the boy's eyes.

“Yes, they often did. He most certainly knows how to wield two at a time.” She nodded her head at Nanashi. “They also made even longer swords than these, and they made a blade of this length mounted on poles called a naginata. There's one above the genken there.” She glanced at the home's entry.

Kotaro, mouth opened in awe, looked that way but couldn't see what she mentioned. 

“There's a recess along the lintel post there, I just reach up and pull the naginata down,” She said.

“Why put a sword on a pole?” he asked. 

“It gives the wielder a longer reach than that of a sword. Besides...” Hira smiled slyly as she smoothed the fabric out away from the new blade. “It's an easier weapon to master for the women of the household. We have to defend our homes with more that just kaiken knives...”

“You mean...?” Kotaro looked at her.

Hira only winked. She held her hand out for the new ho. 

Grinning, Kotaro dropped it into her hands. 

“Now, if you look in the little bag of tools you will find a tiny chisel, can you get it for me?” she asked as she took one of the halves of the ho and slipped it under the tang of the new blade. Reaching into her sleeve she pulled the kaiken knife out and unsheathed it.

Kotaro handed her the chisel which had a very small blade end to it. 

“Now, slip you fingers under the mune side of the blade and lift it so that the tang is flat against the ho.” She instructed, centering the tang on the wooden handle. Kotaro obeyed, watching what she was doing over her arm. With the knife, she carefully scored the outline of the tang onto the ho, including the placement of the mekugi hole. Once that was done, she switched it for the other half and repeated her scoring.

“Why does the blade look so dull?” Kotaro ask as he set it back down on the cloth.

“It hasn't been furbished yet. That is where it gets a final sharpening, then polished until you can see your reflection in the blade. These have been in storage, that's why they darken.” She nudged the blade away for her and picked up one of the handle halves. “So, now that we know where the tang will fit. We drill out the mekugi pin holes and carve out the wood inside the outline so the two halves of the ho are custom fit to the width of the tang.”

A companionable silence fell between them as Hira worked on carefully drilling out the holes and then painstakingly chiselling the space for the tang. Completing one, she got a very fine file out of the sack and showed Kotaro how to smooth the edged of the holes and the tang notch while she worked on the other half. As they worked, Hira heard Nanashi sigh and shift.

A quick glance his way and she could just make out the sheen of perspiration on his face. She studied him, waiting to see if he would relax and settle. His head slowly tipped, facing towards them, his eyes closed and he stilled, his breathing evening out. She watched him a moment longer then turned back to what they were working on.

“Once we get these smoothed out, we'll glue the two halves together and let it set.”

The reconstruction of the tsuka stretched out over several days. The ho needing to be glued together and the handle's fittings needing to be customize to the new wooden handle. The samegawa also, the ray-skin grip, had to be stretched carefully into place to make a full battle wrap around the ho. Here, Hira had to carefully shave the edges of the skin to get it to lay perfectly flat at the seams. Each step was an exercise in precision and craft.

During the day, despite the cold and occasional snowfall, the two tended to the animals and birds. Weather permitting, Hira left Kotaro to go exploring, giving him time to play. She prepared herbs, bark, and roots for future uses and the both of them worked on preparing meals. She even managed to squeeze in time to help the boy with his reading when the weather grew bad.

Nanashi's days descended into jumbled confusion. The worst part being, not so much the fever itself, but the breaking of the fever as he fought against the infections that threatened to overtake him. Two things, however, were a constant anchor. The sounds of Hira and Kotaro quietly murmuring to one another in the evenings, and Hira's continual presence by his side as she helped him through the delirium aspects of his fever.

Delirium cared nothing for the person it affected. Things come to the surface which folks often wanted left buried, or better yet, forgotten. He was no different. It was revealed, with no rhyme or reason, and Hira heard the most of it in Nanashi's incoherent ramblings. There was a world of hurt, anger and indescribable anguish welling up out of him as the fever relentlessly went through its course.

He lay prostrate, barely able to move as the fever wreaked its havoc and Hira spent longer and longer times between sleep and rest tending to him. Often recruiting Kotaro to help with his care. 

Ensconced by the fire one evening, the reassembling of the katana was reaching its peak. Hira, having put away the various tubes and most of the tools, settled by the chabudai with an intricately ornate black lacquer box, a hank of burgundy silk for the ito, and the various bits of equipment that needed to go back onto the sword. There was even a new sheath of walnut wood, polished to a glowing dark brown, its end cap of brass glinting in the firelight.

The blade sat exposed on its wooden block, the different caps and washers, the ho and the pin spread out around her as she set the box on the table. Kotaro looked at it, then up at her curiously as he folded yet another crane for an impressively long string of them. Tobimaru had managed to wriggle his way under the chabudai, setting his head down near the boy.

“That's getting mighty long now...” Hira commented with a wry smile.

Kotaro grinning, rattling a number off proudly as he slipped his newest crane into place with all the others. “What's in there?” he asked, nodding at the box.

“The last few pieces I need to finish this sword.” Hira replied, settling down next to him. She pushed back a little ways and swung the blade around so that the tang pointed at her. Pulling the box over she lifted the lid, revealing three sections all covered in black silk. “We need the menuki, the kozuka, and a new hand guard to finish the work. I think I only have one tsuba left...” She mused, tugging the silk back on a section and revealing several small silver ornaments. She picked out two and held them in her hand to Kotaro.

“They're leaves...” he commented, eliciting a smile from Hira as he picked one up to look at it. In the center was a pair of ginko leaves braced on either side by a pair of maple leaves and ending with sprays of pine needles in the cluster. The ornament no longer than an inch long and with incredible detail.

“Were you expecting dragons? Or fire? Or tigers?” she asked. “Or fearful Shinto gods?”

“Well...” Kotaro drawled, blushing, “I mean, it is for him right?” He glanced over at Nanashi. “He should have something strong and fierce!”

“I am afraid,” Hira replied, “those are in short order around here. What these represent are the crests of my house.” She pointed out the ginkgo leaves. “The ginkgo represents hope, peace and longevity. Qualities that are essential to healers and highly desired by samurai. Pines also represent longevity and virtue. Maples represent the wind, peace, balance,” Hira paused, settling her fingers on the maple leaves of one of the menuki as a flash of grief appeared on her face. “They also represent serenity and...” she stopped, gazing down at the ornament. 

Kotaro looked at her, waiting for her to answer, seeing the troubled look on her features. “And?” he asked. 

Hira shook herself, looking at the boy. “What?”

“You were about to tell me what the other meaning of maple leaves are.” 

“Oh...” Hira pulled her hand back, “It also means lo...” She balked at the word. “It also means longevity as well. Three different symbols all meaning the same thing.” She said hastily, setting her menuki on the table. “Real samurai do not seek fights or battles. They seek peace, and hope. An end to wars...” She glanced momentarily at Nanashi.

Kotaro frowned gazing down at the menuki in his hand. In his very short eight years he had developed an extraordinary and nearly paranoid ability to detect deception in others. Hira had just lied to him. All about maple leaves. He looked confused as he set the other menuki next to its mate.

“Remember when I showed you that hidden slot built into the side of the sheath?” She asked, turning her attention back to him and flipping the silk back into place over the menuki. She pulled aside the silk on long middle compartment in the box.

“Yeah?” Kotaro asked, watching her carefully, trying to sense any more deception. The previous evening she had assembled the new saya or sheath, a fairly quick affair as it was, mostly, already made. It missed only the silk knot of the sageo. There was a knob, with a hole, called the kurigata where the sheath could be attached to an obi. This sheath also included a slot where a small knife called a kozuka could be inserted.

Hira pulled out a slim, six inch long, blade with a nearly flat handle. “This is the kozuka,” she said showing him the handle of the same polished wood as the saya. The handle was inlaid with abalone representing the ginkgo, the maple and the pine needle cluster. She reached over for the sheath and neatly slid the kozuka into place in its slot, thus completing the saya. She smiled and held the sheath out to Kotaro.

“What we need now is a tsuba that can fit not only the katana blade, but the end of that kozuka as well.” Hira said as Kotaro took the saya and began experimentally pulling out and reinserting the kozuka.

Hira reached into the box and flipped the remaining cloth aside. On its bed of silk sat a single, round katana hand guard. The centre clearly defining where the blade went, but with an additional keyhole like slot to the right to accommodate the kozuka. It was far more ornate than any tsuba Kotaro had ever seen. Which really amounted to only Nanashi's broken one. Here the tsuba had three ginkgo leaves separated by pairs of maples leaves. It glinted with silver light as Kotaro peered at it. The piece had spaces cut out to define each leaf, but was more that capable of preventing a hand, or even a blade, from getting past to injure the user.

“So,” Hira said lifting the tsuba out, closing the lid of the box. “Let's get that handle wrapped shall we?”

In a matter of a few minutes, she slipped the habachi sleeve and first seppa into place before sliding the tsuba and second seppa onto the blade. Here she paused, slipping the saya onto the blade, making sure -with a push of her thumb on the kozuka handle- that it slid easily in and out of its keyhole slot on the tsuba. 

Satisfied, she then slid the fuchi cap onto the tang, making sure everything fit snugly into place. She then reached over for the ho.

As she worked the tang into the customized slot on the handle, Kotaro anticipated her next moves, sliding a smaller wooden block under where she worked, snatching up a custom made bamboo pin and the small hammer. With an ease of long practice, Hira twisted, tugged and adjusted the blade of the katana into its new handle then slid the mekugi pin into the holes made to accommodate it. Picking up the wooden mallet she looked down at Kotaro.

“Ready?” She asked with a smile.

“Yeah!” he said with anticipation.

Hira proceeded to secure the blade. Seconds later, she picked up the sword, sliding the sheath off. Gripping it securely in both hands she lifted the blade up to glint in the firelight. Turning it sideways, she turned up her finger and settled it under the habaki collar. 

The sword balanced as neatly as could be atop her finger. Hira smiled in satisfaction, looking over the new sword. She glanced at Kotaro and invited him to balance it as well. 

He breathed out an 'oh' of amazement, then said. “It's beautiful!”

“Yes, katanas can be a thing of beauty, as well as a weapon.” Hira said, watching as he carefully balanced the sword. “And this one isn't even finished yet!” She pulled over the hank of burgundy silk and began reeling off arm lengths of it. With her kaikan she cut it off the skein then gripped the ends together, pulling on them to find the loop forming the midpoint of the wrap.

Kotaro meanwhile, settled the unsheathed blade back on the block and slid the other out of the way, exposing the grey, samegawa wrapped handle and the new tsuba with its habaki and fuchi collars. He even flipped it so the right side faced up.

“Before you know it, you might be making these on your own,” She said to him with a smile. She found the abalone handled hook and the long, thin, dowel tool, then slipped the loop of the silk over the ho, positioning it tight up against the fuchi collar. Nudging the loop in snug with her fingers, she proceeded to flip the sword over, pulling one end of the ito into place, then pull it up, carefully twisting it once, then twice, and settling it firmly into place. She repeated the process with the other end, two twists and firmly settle, smoothing the silk down as flat as it could get. 

Then she flipped the sword back over and repeated the process.

Almost immediately the distinctive diamond pattern of a silk wrapped tsuka-ito could easily be seen emerging. Another pair of twisted wraps and Hira flipped the sword over, right side facing up.

“Hand me a menuki...” She murmured to Kotaro. 

His little hand instantly picked up one of the inch long ornaments and handed it to her. He was fascinated at the process unfolding before him.

“The first menuki goes here, on the right side, just above the large nobs of the ray-skin's center.” She set the silver ornament into place and neatly twisted the silk over it, holding the one end down. “It also goes behind the mekugi pin.” The new menuki neatly hid the discolouration of where the old decoration had sat.

Another flip, another twist, and in moments the menuki was in place. She took the metal probing tool, making sure ito and menuki were firmly and solidly set. She then proceeded to do several more of the wraps in rapid succession. Throughout the process she made sure each was snug and pushed up tight to where they needed to be before having Kotaro hand her the last piece. 

With the sword now facing left side up, she neatly had the second menuki cinched down and finished, wrapping the ito to the end. She pinched the ends onto the ho, leaving a pair of strands. “Now,” she said to the boy, picking up the kashira end cap. “We tie this into place with the ito and finish it.”

As she worked, she could hear Nanashi shifting around on his shikibuton, followed by a soft groan. Using the abalone tool and the metal dowel, she began the intricate job of securely tying down the ito and kashira cap into place. She hid all evidence of where the silk had been cut off. All the while keeping a weather eye on her patient.

“There,”she said at last. Examining her handy work, turning the katana over and around, inspecting the handle and new tsuba. “Tomorrow, I'll show you how the knot is made for the sheath and we'll get it polished up bright and sharp. Then when he gets better, you can give it to him.”

“Yeah!” Kotaro said in satisfaction as she handed the sword to him to look at. Within minutes though he began suppressing yawns. 

“And while you take a look at that, carefully, I'll get this all cleaned up. Then I think someone needs to go to bed, its rather late!” Hira said and slowly rose to her feet.

Winter nights being what they were, often times Hira would settle besides her patient, tending to him and telling Kotaro stories of her childhood and members of her family. He had asked about her husband, but she gently declined to tell him about the man she had married. Instead she regaled him with stories of her brothers, father and uncles. Eventually, with images and exploits dancing in his head, Kotaro would drift off to sleep.

With the boy blissfully unawares, Hira focused all her attention on Nanashi. The stress of trying to heal the man soon appeared on her face. She looked worn and tired with circles under her eyes. No longer needing to put up a solid front, the rigors of what she dealt with weighed her shoulders down. She hauled over a small bamboo tube, then pulled the kakabuton cover down. Luckily, he was mostly on his stomach that night, giving her access to his back, starkly criss crossed with old scars.

She poured an oil tincture onto her hands and set about working on him. Applying the shiatsu she had been trained in. Working silently, she lifted up whatever prayers she could think of as Nanashi eventually began voicing the anguish and internal struggles forcing their way out of him. Hira relentlessly carried on, determined to work as much of the stress and tension out of his muscles as she could, working down his back, his arms, his legs, then eventually his chest where she could work around the bandages.

Murmurings, mumbles, whimpers, even tears, escaped from him as she worked to soothe, and comfort. That night, his distress woke up Kotaro. He twisted around on his bed, looking over at Hira as she diligently sat besides the man, wiping his face, his brow, his neck and shoulders. She didn't hear Kotaro yawn and sleepily stumble to his feet. Nanashi shivered, his head rolling from side to side. Hira kept up a soft hushing and nearly jumped out of her skin when Kotaro suddenly appeared besides her.

“Kotaro!” She gasped, almost dropping the damp clothe in her hand. He was half asleep, one hand rubbing a barely opened eye. He had picked up the new katana and sheathed it.

“Try this...” he murmured, holding the sword out, and yawning.

Hira looked at him perplexed, wondering if he was actually sleep walking. 

“He never slept without it,” the boy mumbled. “Since its been broken, he hasn't hardly slept at all. Maybe it will help?”

Hira paused then slowly set the cloth back into the bowl. She reached up and took the katana from him. Without a word he returned to his bed, burying himself under the comforter. Hira didn't move, just holding the katana in her hands. Then she looked at Nanashi.

Reaching over, she lifted his left arm, sliding the katana under it and curled his fingers around the saya at the hand guard, setting sword and hand on his chest. At first nothing happened, he just shivered again, head rolling, until his fingers reflexively jerked around the hilt. 

Hira would have sworn he let out a soft gasp, before he drew in a deeper breath of air and noticeably relaxed. Reaching for the cloth, she moistened it, wrung it out and dabbed at his face, watching his eyes as they slowly ceased moving under his eyelids. He finally fell into a feverish slumber.

Hira sat there a moment and watched him, before turning and looking over at the boy. Then she dropped her gaze to the bruises and small cut on her arm where he had grabbed her in the throes of his nightmare. Her fingers brushed her arm as she frowned in thought. 

She waited just long enough to be sure he was truly asleep, then she gently slid the katana out from under his arm. Silently, she got up, settling by the chabudai, weary beyond belief, knowing this fever had to break soon or they were in real peril of his death. Gazing thoughtfully at the katana, she carefully wrapped it in the blade's cloth and set it besides the table.

Heaving a sigh, she rested her forehead in her hand, glancing back over at him and made the mistake of closing her eyes. 

Within seconds, she was draped over the low table, succumbing to her own fatigue.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I come bearing a chapter. Call it a gift for having been interrupted by a Rurouni Kenshin fic that insisted on being written in the middle of trying to write this!

##  ****

The Healer

  


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## 

9.

****

As the way of fevers go, it finally broke in the wee hours of the morning. Nanashi woke up, still feeling utterly drained, and drenched in sweat. Two things, however, were noticeably different. 

Feeling strangely odd, there was no tension in him, he simply drifted, loose and comfortable for a change. 

He was also thinking clearly. 

He took an experimental deep breath, noticing that the pain of his broken ribs had substantially lessened. He blinked his eyes open. Lying still, he gazed at the red maple fusuma from where he lay on his right side. The fire from the irori barely illuminated the room. He drew in another slow, deep, breath. Oddly, he could smell a faintly herbal aroma coming from his skin. 

It was eerily quiet. Almost too quiet. With a frown, Nanashi slowly, carefully, rolled onto his back. He glanced left. Hira sat at the chabudai, or rather she slumped over it. He frowned. She lay utterly still, one arm draped across the table, the other cushioning her head in what had to be an awkward position. She faced him. Her hair flowed in a black curtain over her shoulders. She was soundly asleep.

A chill caused him to shiver and he realized that something else was urging him to get up. He glanced right, remembering where there was a toire to use. With a soft groan and some effort, he managed to sit up and waited a few moments before getting his feet under him and rising unsteadily up. 

For the first time in days he felt a minor triumph just getting this far, despite shaking with weakness. That and the fact he managed to get up without waking anyone. He could see the mound that must have been Kotaro buried under his comforter. He never moved. Neither did the dog.

Without further ado he wobbled his way to the fusuma, carefully sliding it back and entered the storage room, seeing the shoji panel behind which must be what he was seeking after. So many days down, it felt like a major accomplishment to get this far. It definitely provided relief.

What he didn't expect was Hira, sleepily gripping the fusuma's edge in one hand as she stood in the storage room, blinking blearily at him as he came back out. Her other hand dragged that long hair out of her eyes.

He instantly tweaked the juban he wore into place, as he both wobbled and shivered, standing in the doorway. Involuntarily he could feel heat rising in his face.

“What?” she started to ask and stopped, focusing on him. “What are you doing up?”

“Uhhh...” he started to say and just jerked his head to the shoji behind him.

Hira studied him a second, noting he was a lot taller now that he was actually standing up straight. She moved forward, “C'mon...” She said approaching him.

Nanashi held up his hands, stopping her. “It's okay...” he said as she looked at him sceptically. “I can do this.” He self consciously tugged the juban down a little lower, looking anywhere but at her.

Hira stopped and raised an eyebrow at him in challenge. “Are you blushing?”

“Um...” he started to say, swallowing nervously, reaching up to run his hand across the back of his neck, he suddenly couldn't face her.

A tiny, impish, smile curled the corners of her mouth as she folded her arms. She maintained a steady gaze on his face. “If it's any consolation, my hands have been all over your body. I've seen every thing.”

He instantly groaned, his shoulders sagging towards the floor as he dropped his head. “That didn't help!” He said ruefully.

She actually giggled, her eyes lit with mischief, before she stepped forward and took his arm in her hands. “Come on. You're about to fall over.”

“What do you expect with a revelation like that?!” he grumbled, reflexively gripping her arm.

“I never expected to see a ronin blush... So modest!” she fired back.

“Like hell I am!” he retorted as she gently steered him out. Hira let him take as much of the task on himself. “I just never expected to be in the care of a woman healer.”

Wobbling, he slowly limped his way out of the room and back into the main washitsu. 

Hira sniffed, helping him to settle back down. “We're no different than men healers.”

“I beg to differ there...” he said as he slowly lowered himself and sat back down. Hira settled on her knees nearby, watching him carefully. Nanashi pulled the comforter back around his shoulders. He sighed in relief, he felt weaker than as a kitten.

“I am pleased to see you moving about normally. Your breathing, is it okay?” Hira asked.

“Yeah, no pressure. Side still hurts though.” He commented, running a hand over his ribs. “The rest of me just feels... tattered.”

“The wounds?” she asked.

“Seem to be doing all right...” he confirmed.

Still watching him carefully she asked. “And your thoughts? Clear?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” he asked, subconsciously reaching up and scratching at the stubble on his chin.

“You haven't exactly been in touch with reality the last few days. Despite teasing you, I just want to be certain I'm speaking to a rational Nanashi. Humour is a good indicator.”

“Days?” he checked, looking at her, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Yes, days,” Hira replied, dragging her hair back with one hand. “Fevers tend to want to hang on to their victims.” She smiled a little. “Would you like anything? Water? Tea? Something to eat?”

“You've been at this for days?” Nanashi looked her over. “When was the last time you got any sleep?”

She let out a huff. “I quit counting the hours when you started getting delirious.”

“And how bad was that?” he asked, a tad cautious.

“I'll just say that you were rambling, talking nonsense. You need not worry yourself.”

He studied her a moment. “What all did I say?” he asked, insistent.

“Enough to let me know you're carrying a heavy heart and a lot of pain, my friend,” she said gently, glancing over at the irori. “Things that can hurt you more than they can help you.”

“That doesn't answer my question,” he said.

“Your question is really how much of yourself did you reveal to me,” she said. “You've been sick, very sick, on top of your injuries. What comes out sometimes is guilt, heartache and anguish; any number or combination of emotions. That can't necessarily be relied upon. Let me just reassure you of something,” She looked back at him. “What is said in moments like this is between you and I, a healer and their patient, no others.”

A faintly forbiddingly look lit his amber eyes. “What did you hear?” he asked again.

She raised her hand, “Don't be alarmed, I implore you, please,” Hira said gently. “Don't let this trouble you.”

“It can't be helped...” he said quietly. “What did you hear?” He asked again, persistent.

Hira huffed in irritation, “I heard nonsense,” she said flatly. “You were incoherent,” she shook her head, “and you're not that person any more.”

“How can you be so certain?” Nanashi asked, looking back at her.

Hira just smiled at him, and nodded her head at Kotaro, buried under his blanket. “Because of him.”

Nanashi glanced over at the slumbering mound, Tobimaru's tail being the only thing visible. “You still haven't answered my question...” he reiterated, looking at her.

Hira sighed. “You were tasked with an honour killing...” she said softly. “A senseless, painful, one. You carry a burden in your heart that the delirium exposed. I believe now that this is why you decided to walk away and become a ronin.” She regarded his scarred face. “One cannot fault you for that.”

“Oh, but many have,” Nanashi responded. He glanced at Kotaro, then looked at the fire. “A samurai doesn't disavow his oaths to his Lord. Those who do become anathema. Either scorned or executed -like vermin- on sight.” 

“But that hasn't occurred with you...” Hira said.

“Yet.” Nanashi shot back. “Just tell me what I said?” He repeated.

“Your words were rambling, incoherent and not even sequential. You were delirious. This kind of talk makes no sense. Trying to repeat it, even less.”

“But you've figured out what they implied,” he persisted.

“How can I not?” She asked. “You seem anxious that I know what they imply. Why is that?”

“What occurred is my burden, my business...” he started.

“It still is. My hearing the incoherent mumblings of a sick patient doesn't remove that.” She replied.  
“What I'm failing to understand is why this is a sore point with you. You have nothing to fear from me.” She looked frankly at him, searching his face. “Moreover, you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“And you say you don't understand why this is a burden to me?”

“Nanashi...” she said. “They're dead. They didn't deserve it. You didn't have a choice...”

“I did have a choice!” he abruptly hissed. “I should have died in their place rather then exec...”

A spark of anger lit Hira's eyes. “The only thing that would have changed is that you'd be dead too!” Hira interrupted him in a fierce whisper. “Those children would still have been executed.” Her eyes bore into his, challenging him. 

“Royal hostages, yes? Like you, like me, their fates were sealed and they knew it. If you hadn't have done it, then another, glory seeking, samurai would have done it in your place. They didn't stand a chance. Yes, you carry the guilt of their deaths. Are you going to let that define who you are and waste their sacrifice? Or are you going to learn from it and face the future with more wisdom and understanding to not let something like that happen again? Seems to me...” She nodded her head at Kotaro. “You've already taken that step. Recriminations and pity are useless now.”

“Has anyone told you, you are infuriatingly relentless?” He growled.

“Probably as many times as someone has called you a fool.” Hira lifted her chin up in defiance.

For a moment nothing was said between them. Finally she backed down.

“Nanashi,” she said, shaking her head. “Those children, I imagine they were your wards? They're gone now, they're dead. Honour their memory by carrying on.”

“But they keep coming back!” he looked away from her, hurt and grief reflecting on his face.

“What comes back to us in our dreams is a pale, inconsequential, shade compared to what they were,” Hira replied. 

“Shades still hurt,” Nanashi said, equally relentless, his voice a low growl. “I'm quite sure the ghost of your husband can still reduce you to the state of a weak and sobbing little girl.”

“And my whole family joins him...” Hira retorted, her chin lifting. “I won't deny it. I just won't let them stop me. The ghosts are just ghosts, flimsy replicas of the ones I loved. I acknowledge them but nothing can bring them back. I carry on.” 

“You're able to carry on because your hand wasn't the one swinging the sword to cut their life off!” He hissed. 

“But my hand was the one that missed the clues leading to the death of my husband,” she said, facing him. “Many members of the daimyo's court blame me for that. We all have guilt that we carry. Our ghosts feed on that. It's what they do. It doesn't mean their always right!”

She focused on his face, studying him. “Many times the things they say are nothing that they would have ever spoken. Their words are only the issues in our heart coming back to mock us,” she added. “You have to decide for yourself whether or not your ghosts control you, and how you're going to respond to them. That is something I cannot do for you.”

“Something you cannot heal?” he shot back. 

Hira jerked her head back as if slapped, her eyes wide, the colour draining from her face. A sneer started to lift the corner of her mouth as her breathing skipped at beat. 

Nanashi could see a pulse throbbing in her neck. His eyes remained locked with hers, instantly knowing he had hit something viciously hard. It didn't surprise him. He'd been trained to do things like this all his life.

Visibly beginning to shake, Hira's jaw muscles tightened as she bit down, grinding her teeth, her fingers clenching the fabric of the robes covering her legs. Her nostrils flared as she struggled to keep her expression neutral.

She slowly lowered her gaze, a faintly wild light shining briefly in them before she drew in a shuddering breath of air. She reached over to the water pot with a shaking hand, lifting the ladle while her other grabbed the cup and filled it. 

Water sloshed over the edges from her trembling as she twisted and set the cup down near him. Her gaze remained averted. Without a word she rose to her feet. She stood there a moment, deliberately not looking at him before turning toward the shoji separating her room from the washitsu.

“It is not uncommon...” she said in a very quiet voice. “For patients to be ill-natured after a long fevers. It's a normal part of the healing process. They often take that out on the ones who healed them.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the fire in the irori.

Without another word, Hira left him sitting there. Silently sliding the shoji back, then shut again as she left him alone.

He sat there for few minutes, scratching at the stubble on his chin in irritation. His gaze dropped to stare at the cup of water she had set by him. The fingers of his left hand slowly curled around his knee as he lifted his other hand to prop his head up and cover his eyes. Wearily he closed them, and slowly shook his head.

“You damned fool idiot!” he whispered in self loathing. “What the hell have you done?!”

***

The next morning he wouldn't even be able to find out. 

An enormous cacophony of angry honking, and barking, literally brought all of them straight up out of their respective beds. 

Looking around him in wild eyed confusion, Kotaro exclaimed, “Tobimaru!?” While Nanashi just sat bolt upright, wincing as he grabbed at his ribs.

“What the hell?” He exclaimed looking around for the source of the racket.

The shoji screen to Hira's room slid open with a hard thump and she stumbled out, cinching the knot of her sash down as Kotaro scrambled out of his bed. Over one of her shoulders was a loosely draped red silk scarf that nearly reached the floor.

“That stupid goose!” Kotaro erupted. “I hope Tobimaru gets him this time!”

“That's not a fighting noise!” Hira snapped, her hair spilling around her shoulders in utter disarray. She made her way rapidly past them both. “That's a defending noise!” She jerked the scarf around her neck, letting the two ends dangle towards the ground. Nanashi barely made out large black characters written down both ends of the scarf.

Before entering the genken, her hand reached up over the lintel post and jerked down a six foot long pole. Two feet from the upper end was the hand guard of a tsuba. Without a word, her hand slid up the staff, grabbed the sheath and pulled it off the blade. Slipping it under her sash, she stepped down into the genken for her sandals.

She promptly disappeared, Kotaro and Nanashi hearing her jerk open one of the engawa storm shutters.

Nanashi, looked around a moment frantically searching, as Kotaro dashed to the genken.

“Kotaro!” he snapped and was promptly ignored.

The boy ran outside as the cacophony continued on.

Inside, a mad scramble ensued as Nanashi grabbed for his clothes and within moments he managed to half limp, half stumble his way out onto the engawa before catching himself from falling. He threw an arm around a post, his other hand grabbing at his side. He clutched the fabric of his robes as he panted hard for breath, feeling his knees begin to give out from under him. He scowled at his weakness, trying to see down the stone pathway to the trail beyond.

Out on the trail, Hira stood in its center as both dog and goose continued their racket. Three men stood before her, partially hidden by the trees blocking the view of the path. She had the naginata planted solidly into the ground before her, holding one end of the red scarf in her hand up, shaking it.

Nanashi could make out that the three men were armed with swords and dressed in a disreputable collection of rags. One of the men had moved forwards, talking to Hira. They were fiercely debating something.

Nanashi glanced around quickly, seeing if there was anything handy nearby to use as a weapon. He heard Hira talking quickly to the man over the racket of the animals.

Kotaro meanwhile, had slid to a stop in the pathway, just out of sight of the trail, watching what was enfolding. He was listening intently to Hira berating the men on the road.

Nanashi scowled, forcing his shaking legs to support him as he relied heavily on the post to keep him upright. “Kotaro!” he snapped, trying to get the boy's attention.

The boy suddenly slapped his hands over his mouth to stop his laughter. He turned around at the sound of his name, eyes glinting, and he looked back at Nanashi with a flash of mischief. That was until he saw Nanashi leaning dangerously over the edge of the engawa, arm wrapped around the post, the other gripping his ribcage.

That wild joy on his face slowly disappeared as he got a good, hard, look at the man. Horror flashed over the boy's features as he turned and began running towards him. “Nanashi!” he exclaimed, desperation creeping into his voice.

“What's happening out there?” Nanashi snapped as the boy slid to a stop in front of him.

“You've got to get inside!” Kotaro burst out, searching Nanashi's face. “Now! You've got to get back inside!” He was looking at him with a growing dread and fear.

“What is happening down there!?” Nanashi demanded as he tried to claw his way back up straight, still panting hard from his exertions. He continued looking around, searching for anything to use as a weapon.

“You have to get back inside!” Kotaro said urgently. “Come on!” He dashed up onto the engawa, trying to pull Nanashi's arm free from the post. “Now!”

“Tell me what is happening down there!” Nanashi snapped in irritation, trying to push the boy away.

“She's telling them we have smallpox!” Kotaro snapped back. “You can't let them see you!”

Smallpox?

Of course, the scarf... a warning for healers to keep people at bay from entering a residence. That was the writing on the ends of the scarf. The sash itself a warning to those who couldn't read. Nanashi felt the boy pulling on him, trying to force him away from the edge of the porch.

“Nanashi! You can't let them see you! You've got to get back inside!” The boy was insisting, almost frantic now in his attempts to get the man to turn around. “Please!” He pleaded.

Pleading? Nanashi frowned, looking at the boy. Kotaro pulled on his arm and his robes, trying to get him to move.

“Kotaro? What..?” he started to ask.

“Your face!” The boy exclaimed, “You haven't shaved! Your beard... It's red!”

A chill swept over the man as he stared at the boy insisting that he return inside the house. In a daze he allowed Kotaro to drag him away from the edge of the en and lead him, limping, back into the genken.

As relief hit the boy, anger returned and he began berating Nanashi as he snatched his tabi from off his feet, trying to push him into the washitsu. Nanashi stumbled, one hand reaching up to drag his fingers over the stubble on his cheek as realization crashed into him with the force of a tidal wave.

“How could you forget? You are such an idiot!” Kotaro raged.

The boy continued angrily as Nanashi gained his feet, standing up, his gasps for breath slowing as he stared around the inside of the room. His brain felt like it was on fire. 

A muffled thump on the engawa signalled Hira's return to the house. There was a pause as she kicked off her sandals and another as she stepped up onto the floor. 

Kotaro had suddenly fallen silent as Nanashi slowly turned around to face her, his hand still touching the stubble on his face, mouth partially open as his amber eyes locked onto her dark ones.

Hira pulled the saya free from her sash, looking at the man, as she slipped the blade of the naginata back into the sheath. The blade's habaki made a soft metallic click as it went home against the sheath's koiguchi.

“Unwanted visitors,” she said, lifting the naginata and reaching up to replace it above the entryway. “With news from the village.” She smiled slightly turning back, as she reached up and pulled the red scarf from off her neck. 

“They think this place is in quarantine now. They won't disturb us. They're taking word back to the...” She stopped, seeing the look on Nanashi's face.

“You. Know.” He stated flatly.


End file.
